Nurmengard
by RedTideZero
Summary: Sequel to ‘Brothers in Arms’. Harry is charged with murder, arson, and endangering the Statue of Secrecy, and is sent to Nurmengard prison to await trial. However, as Harry is being led into prison, the inmates of Nurmengard are planning to break out…
1. Revolt

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and I'm not getting paid anything for writing this, so keep your damn lawyers away. BEGONE!

**_Quick AN_:** My apologies to any Germans who may read my feeble attempts at your language and find it more humorous then serious; those damn translators rarely ever gave me the same translation for a word or phrase twice, if ever.

**Nurmengard**

_Chapter 1: __Revolt_

When we're younger, our parents read us stories of dragons and princesses, witches and warriors, demons and angels. Mythical tales where the hero fight's the dark forces that surround him, saves the girl, and lives happily ever after. Fairy tails that teach us that the good guy's always win, that helping others is the right thing to do, and that if you hold out for just a little bit longer everything will be alright.

Harry Potter was never read those fanciful tales. Neither was Dudley Dursley for that matter, as those tales were thought too 'freakish' to pollute their young sons mind with. Regardless, Harry still knew those marvelous stories existed, and if you mentioned them in his presence you'd be rewarded with a wry grin. Harry knew, even at a young age, what many of his peers would take years to realize: that fairy tales are absolute garbage. Sure, dragons and witches didn't exist, _everyone_ knew that, but what his peer's didn't know was that the world wasn't a kind place that rewarded good deeds. People hurt other people constantly; they were cruel and vindictive for no other reason then for the fact that they could act like that. There were no happy endings; oftentimes the real-life hero's either saved someone's life for personal gain or other greed driven motives. And in the event a truly selfless person came along they would likely die trying to rescue another, or survive without a single word or hint of gratitude. Those selfless few would be taken advantage of and repeatedly walked all over because in the end, people only cared about #1 - themselves.

So then why was Harry so willing to jump through fire repeatedly to help others, to be continuously burned by flames for people he barely knew or cared for? Because deep down, Harry _wanted_ to believe; Harry wanted to believe in the moral high ground, to believe that doing the right thing was its own reward, and that an inherent good existed in everyone and just needed the right nudge to come forward.

Recently however, Harry was starting to believe certain people needed more then just a simple nudge to straighten them out; in the case of the British Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, repeated blows to the head from a beaters bat may be required.

Harry's lack of faith in the current Minister was due to the ridiculous circumstances he now found himself in. Harry had been forced to participate in the infamous Tri-Wizard Tournament against his will, because someone had entered him in under a fourth school and tricked the Goblet of Fire. However, Harry didn't fully know why he was entered until the he had grabbed the trophy with Cedric Diggory at the end of the Third Task, which activated the Portkey Charm that was placed on the item. They had both found themselves in a dark graveyard at some unknown location, and not knowing if this was part of the final task, Harry had asked Cedric if they should keep the Tri-Wizard trophy close. Thankfully for Cedric, the Portkey had a return feature added to it, allowing him to return to Hogwarts; Unfortunately for Harry, he was now stranded alone in the dark graveyard with no way of returning safely to school.

Things only became worse for Harry when he was forced to participate in a macabre resurrection ritual to revive the infamous Dark Lord Voldemort, which had succeeded. It was only due to a small fluke that Harry survived the encounter – both Harry's and Voldemort's wands were brothers, and as such could not successfully attack each other, producing the reverse spell effect, Priori Incantatem, whenever they tried. The effect happened twice: first time Harry saw the shadows of his parent's, giving him instructions to flee the graveyard and summon the Knight Bus back to Hogwarts, and the second time giving Harry enough of a distraction to attack Voldemort with a stolen wand, giving Harry possession of both brother wands. This was the turning point in the battle, as the wands, when working together, amplified the spells they cast significantly. Harry had managed to fight his way out of the graveyard using the wands, severely injuring the Dark Lord and killing many of the Death Eaters that had answered Voldemort's summons that night. However, due to the severe injuries he had sustained, Harry collapsed just outside the graveyard before he could summon the Knight Bus and get to safety.

Harry remembered waking up painfully in a Muggle hospital almost a week later, chained to the bed and a prime suspect in the Muggle police investigation into the deaths in the Little Hangleton cemetery as well as the arson and destruction at Riddle Manor. Technically, Harry did kill all those Death Eaters and help destroy the manor and graveyard, but they were all terrorists and it was in self defense. Without his wands, Harry had to actual call the Dursley's to try and reach the magical world, but they almost instantly hung up on him, not wanting to deal with the 'freak'. It wasn't until details about the case were leaked to the press about a 'slaughter in a graveyard' that the Ministry officials actually found him.

Harry's relief was short lived as he was brought before the full Wizengamot on charges of mass murder, destruction of property, and for endangering the Statue of Secrecy keeping the Wizarding world safe. Apparently, during his week-long absence, Cedric was named the Tri-Wizard Champion, despite his pleads that it was a shared victory, and the case of the missing Harry Potter was further compounded when a large chunk of the controlling Pure-Blood wizards across Britain went missing at the same time. They had no leads beyond Cedric's claims that Harry was in a 'dark graveyard' till the Muggle press got involved in the case. Now the Unspeakables had to work overtime to explain away the bizarre circumstances surrounding the incident and both the Muggle and Wizarding world wanted swift justice done to the lone perpetrator of the crimes.

Harry tried to explain that Voldemort had returned, but no one wanted to believe him. The fact that Peter Pettigrew had escaped and there was no solid proof, aside from his wand, that Voldemort had been there had hindered his case. Everyone was also emotionally charged from the deaths of so many wealthy family heads and council members, causing many of them to loose their impartiality when dealing with the case; the fact that all the dead Pure-Bloods were in the same place at the same time as Harry had disappeared, with wands registering dark spells didn't seem to make a difference to them. When Harry argued that they all bore the Dark Mark, Fudge and the others had argued that they were all already given trials and found innocent by way of being under the Imperious Curse, despite the fact they were all wearing black cloaks and skull masks when found dead. All that the Pure-Blood idiots on the council cared about was that all their little intermarried family members were dead and that they now had less people to take bribes from.

It as only through Dumbledore's immediate intervention that Harry wasn't executed on the spot; due to ministry laws the accused had right to a fair and impartial trial and needed time to prepare. Backed into a corner, the Fudge and the Wizengamot were forced to give Harry time to prepare for trial, but they refused to offer bail due to the severity of the crimes he was being charged for.

Due to the restricted release of information on the trial, the public only knew that eleven influential Pure-Blood's were dead and the Ministry believed Harry Potter to be the one responsible. Naturally, this caused mixed reactions amongst the population. While some believed in the 'Boy-Who-Lived' and wanted to give him a chance to explain himself, most believed in the slander of Rita Skeeter and Minister Fudge, rallying behind the surviving family members of the fallen Death Eaters and demanding his head without question. Due to the volatile situation, it was decided amongst Fudge, Dumbledore, and Amelia Bones that Harry would not be held at Azkaban, which was where people believed he would be held, but instead sent to the seldom used prison, Nurmengard, hidden in an unknown location in Germany to await trial.

Harry could vividly remember his approach towards the imposing building, being led by a smug Fudge, and pensive Bones, and a disheartened Dumbledore. The building was jet black, in a bizarre triangular shape as it rose upwards towards the clouds. The building was also surrounded by a towering black wall with turrets scattered throughout to prevent escape. Harry could actually feel the magical wards as he passed though the gates into the courtyard and was led to the main building, where the odd phrase '_For the Greater Good_' was carved into the entrance beneath a symbol Harry had never seen before: a triangle, containing a circle, containing a straight vertical line. He was then led up numerous flights of stairs, twisting like a dizzying maze till he reached the second highest level, where he was shoved into a dark cell and the door was closed and locked. Dumbledore attempted to give Harry a few words of encouragement, before he continued up further to the top level, while Fudge and Bones left and went back down.

It had now been well over a week since Harry had been tossed into prison, and he felt he was going batty from the solitude. He hadn't been visited by Dumbledore or anyone else for that matter since he was first incarcerated and had no idea what was happening back in Britain. All his meals appeared on a paper plate three times a day in the front of his cell with plastic utensils, before any leftovers and the plate vanished a half-hour later. The camber pot in the corner had a Vanishing Charm on it and a small showerhead would appear from the wall in the other corner for fifteen minutes every morning so Harry could clean himself and his clothing, if he didn't mind being soaking wet and dripping for a hour or so afterwards. They hadn't even given him new cloths; there was no prison uniform and he still wore the ragged red and black outfit he wore during the third task. All Harry could do while stuck in his cell was stew in his own worry and rage at the incompetent fools who held power in the wizarding world and who only thought of their own popularity and pocket books. The whole situation was absolutely maddening.

The only small blessing Harry could gleam from the entire experience was that he wasn't stuck in Azkaban with Dementors sucking up any of the few happy memories he still possessed, but if Harry actually knew what was about to happen, he might just wish for the soul-sucking comforts of Azkaban; some shit just doesn't seem worth it, and the firestorm headed his way was too much for even _his_ impossible luck to handle.

* * *

Sitting in the highest cell of Nurmengard, gazing out the barred window, it was very easy for Gellert Grindelwald to believe himself to be superior to all others, above all the fools who toiled and struggled through their short, pointless lives in order to make a living. They all believed themselves to be safe from the powerful Dark Lord Grindelwald because they had captured him and locked him up in the very prison he had built – what irony. Grindelwald had been called many things over the course of his life: visionary, leader, tyrant, madman, but never a fool. Did they really think they could contain him in a building he had constructed himself? Apparently so, because they had thrown him in prison fifty-one years ago and had never looked back, believing they were safe from him. They were all fools; who else would lock a person in his own fortress, expecting him to be contained? They had all played straight into his hands.

Grindelwald had built Nurmengard towards the end of what the Muggles would call 'World War II'. He had let them all believe it was an advanced prison built to hold his most dangerous opposition, namely Albus Dumbledore and anyone like him; of course they were all wrong. Nurmengard was built as the accumulation of Grindelwald's life's work, with the purpose of containing the awesome powers he had planed to unleash. Sadly, while the buildings structure had been finished, the underground catacombs that were crucial to his plan were not complete by the time he had run into Dumbledore. The idealistic fool had battled him and, knowing he was backed into a corner, Grindelwald had allowed himself to be defeated.

Many of his followers would later question why he allowed himself to be defeated, and the answer was simple – they were loosing. When Grindelwald had first tricked the foolish, power-hungry Muggles that led the then unknown Nazi party in Germany, he had planned to use their own racism and greed to get them to be the flesh and blood shield that helped protect his goal of subjugating all who weren't Pure-Blood wizards. He gave them the power and recourses to forge their bloody path through Europe, killing untold numbers of Muggles on both sides, all for the ideal of a 'Pure Arian Race' that Grindelwald himself had given them. Grindelwald had planned to let that puppet Hitler 'conquer the world', and then pull the rug out from under them at the last moment and take over the war-torn plant, which would have been completely unable to defend itself. Grindelwald could then personally rebuild the world to his own image, subjugating the unworthy and using Nurmengard to complete his final goal.

Of course, things never worked out that way; the Muggles united and fought back against the cruel Nazi regime, while the wizarding world discovered Grindelwald was the one who orchestrated the whole war for his own twisted schemes and they had also fought against him. It was at this time when Grindelwald began to contemplate a secondary, back-up plan, in case he lost the war. He let the existence of Nurmengard leak out to the wizarding world, and once he had to face Dumbledore, he bet on Albus' hatred of killing to allow him to live, and allowed himself to lose. He bet on Dumbledore not only sparing him, but then locking him in his own fortress to allow him to 'feel remorse' for his crimes – the idealistic fool was so easy to read at times.

One in prison, Grindelwald began his secondary plan – he learned from the war that the 'direct approach' of openly crushing nations wouldn't work for his goal to become reality. Instead, Grindelwald had left explicit instructions with his personal army, '_Reiniger_', or '_Purifiers_', to carefully begin to infiltrate all of the worlds major Government agencies, both Muggle and magical, in order to stage a grand, world-wide coup d'état, overthrowing any and all opposition before they could gather and openly oppose him. It took about one year before his first splinter-agent had infiltrated the prison guards of Nurmengard, and he had finally gotten his old wand back, the one he used prior to getting the Elder wand; With the use of some clever rune and charms work, his cell still looked normal from the outside, but the inside was transformed to a comfortable study to suit his needs and plan his takeover. Within another two years his agents had again began to expand the catacombs underneath Nurmengard, careful to work quietly to avoid detection; Progress was slow to avoid discovery and it had taken decades to not only come close to finishing Nurmengard, but to also successfully infiltrate all the world's major governments. Now Gridelwald's fortress was finally complete, and all that was left was to move his last few agents into place before he could spring his trap and his grand scheme could take effect – the subjugation of humanity and purification of the magical world.

However, life tends to surprise us in the most unexpected ways, and Grindelwald had been presented with a golden opportunity. That fool, Cornelius Fudge, and the mindless sheep that followed him had been fooled by the few remaining Death Eaters to believe that Voldemort had not actually been reborn and that Harry Potter and Dumbledore were lying to create civil unrest and cover up the death of eleven Pure-Blood wizards. Having spies in both the Ministry and the Death Eaters, Grindelwald knew the truth – that not only had Voldemort been fully resurrected and beaten by Potter, but that the Ministry's higher-ups wanted to cover up the attack for fear that their involvement with the Death Eaters would become public knowledge and unravel the corruption that permeated the Ministry and the Wizengamot. Fudge and his lackeys had taken numerous bribes to keep many of Voldemort's supporters out of prison after the end of the first war and had then kept taking bribes to pass laws that favored Pure-Blood's while hindering Half-Blood's, Muggle-Born's, and other magical races that were considered by them to have 'sub-human intelligence'. With the deaths of so many bribers, not only had their pocket books been hit hard but they now risked all their dirty laundry being aired out to the public; the only way to resolve the situation would be to interfere with the investigation and pin the blame on the most convenient target, Harry Potter. By blaming him they could not only cover-up the Death Eaters elicit activities, but also get rid of Potter, who had become a annoying pest because of him announcing the Dark Lords return and trying to bring attention the miscarriage of justice that happened to Sirius Black almost thirteen-years previous. They were all terrified of the possibility of Voldemort's return and instead of facing reality they decided to turn a blind eye to any evidence there may have been to suggest Potter's claims were true, choosing instead to think that the Death Eaters had gathered to kill Potter and cause fear, similar to the attack on the Quidditch World Cup. Through fear, bribes, and a unyielding belief in their own superiority, Fudge and his followers had convinced themselves that by throwing the boy to the wolves they would be fixing the situation and giving the public what the wanted – retribution against Potter; It was idiocy of the highest caliber.

The whole situation was highly amusing to Grindelwald; for the big, bad Dark Lord Voldemort to go through a year-long, complex and clever plan to capture and isolate one outclassed teenager to steal his blood, only for that same teenager to completely decimate his forces and nearly kill him again…it was ridiculous. To make the situation even more ironic, Voldemort's original plan was still in motion, minus most of his key players – the Ministry was unaware, or in this case completely ignoring his return and focusing on Potter, who should have been dead, giving Voldemort the cover he had originally wanted. Grindelwald's spy within the Death Eaters had informed him that the plan to take Azkaban was ready but instead of waiting and being stealthy like Voldemort had first wished in order to hide his presence, he instead planed to level the entire building to vent his unending rage. Apparently, the damage inflicted to Voldemort by Potter was so extensive he had to resort to some rather drastic measures to keep his current body alive, lest he be trapped in a half-dead limbo again for another decade or longer. It was not only a blow to Voldemort's manpower and recourses, but it was a personal blow to his body and pride, and his third or fourth defeat to Potter if Grinelwald's intel was correct, which it always was. Voldemort had decided to move up his attack on Azkaban to capture and kill Potter while he was stationed there to await trial, killing the brat and plunging the wizarding world into panic once all his Death Eaters were free; the entire situation was playing right into Grindelwald's hands.

Grindelwald's original plan would have incurred a fair number of losses at the start, but by tweaking the current situation slightly, an amazing opportunity presented itself. Grindelwald had his agent within the Ministry suggest to Fudge to have Potter sent to Nurmengard without anyone leaking the information to the press, similar to many of the political prisoners that were now contained within Grindelwald's fortress. He also had his agent within the Death Eaters suggest holding off attacking Azkaban till Fudge went to pick-up the child from prison, thus killing Potter and the Minister at the same time. Fudge, however, would actually be coming to Nurmengard, and if Grindelwald moved up his own plans to start his break-out, he could obtain two valuable hostages, while the different Ministry's would be in disarray from the loss of two of the world's greatest prisons. It was an opportunity too good to pass up.

Knowing that the Minister planed to arrive early to retrieve the Potter boy and pull a fast one on Dumbledore by having an early trial, Grindelwald sent a message out to his hidden army to mobilize as fast as possible, because tomorrow would be the day that the new world order would begin, and now nothing could stop it.

* * *

It was turning out to be another dull day for Raimund Richter as he filled in for the 7:00AM shift guard change at Nurmengard prison. The prospect of having the British Minister of Magic come by in less then two hours was a rather boring concept, as many different political powerhouses often passed through Nurmengard, looking to keep tabs of all the different people they had thrown into prison to cover up one scandal or another. He was just sitting down into his guard station on the sixth level when a terrified voice broke over the communication mirrors.

"_The prisoners have escaped! I repeat the prisoners have escaped! They are all armed with wands and are trying to reclaim the prison! Call for re_…" were his last words as Richter's friend, Everard Werner, had his head blown off, showering his communication mirror in blood before it fell to the ground and shattered, ending the communiqué.

Despite Werner being stationed on the tenth floor, Richter could now hear sounds of combat from all around him, from above and below. Quickly exiting his guard station, Richter just barely dodged a vivid green light, which instead struck another guard that had been approaching the station, perhaps for some cover, causing him to fall over, dead. Flicking his wand, Richter sent a large, spinning chain at the escaped convict, watching it wrap around his body and forcing him to collapse to the ground. Another convict turned the corner and launched a sickly yellow light that arced towards Richter, who raised a silver shield, which quickly began to melt under the acidic spell before he threw the ruined shield back towards his attacker. The escaped convict raised his own metal shield to stop Richter's, causing a dull clang to echo through the hallway, before Richter twisted his wand and sent a thick tendril of fire cork-screwing towards his opponent. Richter's attack twisted around the convicts shield and pierced the center of his cheat, gouging out a massive hole and killing the inmate.

Even from a distance, Richter could easily make out the crimson cloak with black and white markings, forming the familiar triangular symbol on the convicts left arm. '_A Purifier_,' Richter thought, '_what the hell are Grindelwald's forces doing running loose inside the building? Did they release the inmates?_' Hearing a scrape from behind him, Richter suddenly turned and nearly shot his partner, Gervas Fuchs as he came around the corner.

"Merlin Gervas, what's happening? The whole prison seems to have gone mad!" Richter asked.

"All the prisoners have escaped their cells and were armed with wands. The Dark Lord had this planed out for some time, and now he has finally sprung his trap," Fuchs replied calmly.

"But in order to open all the cells simultaneously, Grindelwald would have had to have an agent on the inside…" Richter wondered aloud, before suddenly ducking another green light sent from Fuchs.

"What the hell, Gervas! Have you betrayed us to Grindelwald? You're a traitor!" Richter roared, launching several tightly knit balls of violet light, which Fuchs easily dodged, causing a massive chunk of the black wall to explode.

"I was never a traitor, Raimund, you merely mistook my loyalties," Fuchs countered, shooting a large, green spear of light at Richter, who erected a barrier, but was knocked backwards from the blow and fell over the corpse of the dead guard who had been murdered with the killing curse less then a minute before.

Struggling to his feet, Richter transfigured the large chunks of black rock into three falcons, which quickly began to claw and peck at any exposed part of Fuchs they could. Swearing in German, Fuchs grabbed the throat of one of the falcons with his left hand, snapping its neck while casting a Severing Charm on another, slicing the bird in two. Richter fired a killing curse at the traitorous guard, who knocked the last falcon into its path before sending another green lance of light at his opponent, who ducked and was showered with burning shards from the blasted door behind him.

"Give up: the new world order is coming and a pathetic little Gegentaktik washout like you can't stop it," Fuchs sneered. Richter considered that comment to be a low blow; since he had first learned about magic, he had always wanted to join the German Ministry's version of the Aurors, _Gegentaktik_, or _Counter Tactics_, Division in order to help people and fight oppression. However, due to an injury incurred during training he no longer possessed the mobility needed to be in the special division. Richter was instead allowed to transfer to Nurmengard, where his mobility would be less of a hindrance; it wasn't even that big of a problem, only causing his left leg to seize up under heavy stress, like it was starting to now.

With an angry slash, Richter sent a wave of fire at Fuchs, who raised a water shield to defend himself. Sending a quick Cooling Charm followed by a Blasting Hex, Richter destroyed the shield and sent shards of ice straight into Fuchs face, slicing his skin and impaling his left eye. Shrieking in rage and holding his hand over his now bleeding eye, the traitor sent several Blasting Hexes at Richter, who was forced to roll away while the corpse of the dead guard was blown into bloody pieces. One of the blasts had caused a rather gagged piece of the floor to fly up into his right side, digging in under his rib cage and piercing his lung. Struggling for breath, Richter crawled back towards the guard station while Fuchs almost seemed to froth at the mouth in his anger.

"_Avada_..." Fuchs began, but a massive explosion from above caused several bricks from the ceiling to collapse and one struck his left arm, causing the hand holding the ice shard in his eye to suddenly jerk downwards, ripping the eye out with it. Shrieking in pain and shock after having just ripped out his own eyeball, Fucks never noticed the killing curse that ended his life.

Holding his bleeding left side, Richter hobbled into the guard station, determined to send out a message of the breakout to the outside world. Inside the main guard stations on every third level of the prison was a specially modified scrying stone; normally, scrying stones were used to try and see into the future, and could only be used by certain trained or gifted people. However, a recent development from the Unspeakables in the Ministry allowed modified scrying stones to see into the present, acting similar to Muggle communicators, allowing transmissions to be sent farther then the current magical mirror communicators would allow. As Richter got to the scrying console he looked out the barred window and froze in shock; the British Minister and his party were almost two hours early. Activating the scrying crystal, Richter transmitted his signal across all frequencies, desperately hoping the Minister carried one of the expensive portable scrying stones on him so he could hear the warning.

"_Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! An armed revolt has broken out in Nurmengard Prison! Suffering heavy losses; please send help immediately! Mayday! Mayday! Mayd..._" Richter suddenly stopped and spun around, raising his wand at a sound he had herd. The prisoner he had entangled in chains earlier had broken free and fired a Severing Charm at the guard, slicing his right arm off below the elbow. Howling in pain, Richter barely registered the blasting curse that ended his life, blowing a massive hole through his chest and destroying the scrying stone behind him.

Although he had been killed, Raimund Richter had won a small victory – the distress call he had sent out had been received by at least three different groups, each heavily armed and possessing their own modified scrying stones…

* * *

As the British Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, walked through the open gates along the outer wall of Nurmengard Prison, he simply couldn't wipe the smug grin off his face. He had managed to convene the Wizengamot three hours early and not inform anyone outside the group of it, preventing Dumbledore or anyone else from interfering with Potter's trial and making him almost defenseless. Being stripped of his status of Supreme Mugwump, Dumbledore was no longer in the 'need to know' circle of the legislature; he had wanted to speak with Potter an hour early so he could represent his case, but would now find himself either barred from the court room, or showing up after the trial had already ended.

Fudge was going to push for the Dementor's Kiss to be administered once Potter was found guilty of all charges. The boy had simply become too much of a problem to let live; almost everything the boy said was completely undermining his position as the British Minister, from the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord's 'supposed' resurrection, to the lack of trial and miscarriage of justice perpetrated on Sirius Black. If even half of what Potter said made it into the media, the ensuing investigation would cleanout almost a third of the Ministry's employees, from charges of bribery and extortion, to involvement in illegal terrorist groups and the unethical segregation and lockout of the majority of the wizarding world's populace so that the 'Pure-Blood's' could remain rich and prosperous as the controlling faction. The political landscape was no place for an inexperienced, underage fourteen-year old wizard, and he was now paying the price by being gobbled up by a larger threat; Potter wouldn't be the first sacrifice made so a select few could stay in power, and he certainly wouldn't be the last either.

With a slight bounce in his step, Fudge strolled through the courtyard, ignoring the slight vibration in his right pocket, and approached the foreboding black door leading into the prison. As the door slowly creaked open, Fudges smile never faltered until a wave of crimson stunners completely overwhelmed the four Aurors that he had brought along with him as his guards, completely destroying any shield they had tried to erect. Looking behind him at his decimated guard, Fudge began to tremble as he noticed the people that had quickly surrounded him all wore a different uniform from the real prison guards: Crimson cloaks with the same black symbol that adorned the prison's main gate. It was the same triangular symbol that had once caused people to flee in droves, terrified that they would be 'cleansed' by the Purifiers that had swept through Europe over fifty-years ago; it was the mark of Dark Lord Grindelwald.

Several of the cloaked figures levitated the unconscious Aurors into the fortress, while Fudge was poked harshly in the back with a wand to get him to move forward. Just inside the entrance was a man Fudge never believed he would ever see walking around freely: Gellert Grindelwald. He was dressed in a crimson cloak similar to his guards, but it was obviously made of a higher quality material, as it shimmered when he walked. He bore the Purifiers logo proudly on his left arm, and black and white tendrils of cloth were stitched into his robes in detailed and intricate designs, while the metal bracers on his forearms and legs, along with the light shoulder armor he wore gave him and overall appearance of a warrior king, preparing for battle. His silver hair was long and wavy, tied in a red ribbon at the base of his neck, and while he wore a charming and mischievous smile on his face, Fudge felt no warmth come from the man before him.

"Welcome, Minister Fudge, to my humble fortress," Grindelwald said calmly with a wide wave of his hand, causing a chill to run up Fudge's spine, "you're just in time for the _festivities_". Fudge could hear the large black entry doors slowly closing behind him, sealing him inside the massive prison with no chance of escape.


	2. Rebellion

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and I'm not getting paid anything for writing this, so keep your damn lawyers away. BEGONE!

**Nurmengard**

_Chapter 2: Rebellion_

The British Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, felt like he was being led on a death march. After his entire guard was ambushed at the prison's entrance, the wands that his four Auror guards and he had possessed were all confiscated by the escaped convicts. After the four unconscious Auror's were woken up, they were all marched silently up through the twisting stairways that seemed to wind throughout the prison, heading towards the top. Due to the numerous times Fudge had been to Nurmengard, mainly because of him personally expanding the inmate population with naysayer's who needed to be 'silenced' for the sake of his career, he was quite familiar with certain aspects of the complex; the stairway they were on was the main one used to bring in prisoners, which was why it twisted and turned so much, so that it could disorient anyone who walked up them and made it more difficult for inmates to escape. There were whispers of secret hidden passageways between the floors, but they were only known to a select few and required either a special key or password to use, and Fudge had neither.

The Minister was able to keep track of the floors as they ascended up through the massive fortress, counting up until they had reached the eleventh floor, which was the second highest level in the prison. Looking around, Fudge saw that, with the exception of Grindelwald's red-cloaked Purifiers, the remaining prison inmates were all gathered together in the center of a large rectangular chamber, lined up in single file, side-to-side as if awaiting execution. The Purifiers quickly closed ranks on them and had all the regular prisoners completely surrounded. Fudge was given a harsh shove forward from behind and he and his Auror guard joined the end of the line; ironically enough, Fudge found himself standing next to the very person he had come to prison to collect for trial and execute: the 'Boy-Who-Lived', Harry Potter.

* * *

Having just had his morning shower, which consisted of franticly scrubbing both himself and his filthy clothing clean furiously for fifteen-minutes in freezing cold water, Harry Potter was now standing naked, shivering in his drafty cell as he tried in vain to wring all the water out from his damp, half washed clothing. So far Harry's stay in 'Château Nurmengard' was less then pleasant, but still quite bearable; if he were to compare it to the majority of his time spent in the Dursley's household, sad to say it would actually be considered an improvement. The prison guards never tried to make him perform manual labor, he was given three square meals a day, and was allowed to shower once a day and use the bathroom whenever he needed. There never seemed to be the imminent threat of physical abuse looming over him, and he actually got to sleep in a room bigger then a tiny cupboard with a barred window to let the light and fresh air in – it was a hell of a lot more then what Harry was used to.

Still, the prospect of the oncoming trial made Harry feel like he was strapped to a flat, horizontal board with the proverbial swinging pendulum above him, slowly lowering before it would lop his head clean off and end his short life. With nothing to do all day inside his drafty cell, he could either take _another_ nap or ponder his miserable lot in life. Harry never considered himself to be an angry, depressed sort of individual, but his patience with the world was quickly wearing thin. He was only human, and with all the garbage spewed in the papers about him in the last year, not to mention the segregation he felt from the rest of the school who believed him to be an attention seeking liar and cheat during the tournament, his frustration was already pushed to the limits even before he entered the maze during the Third Task. Now, after fighting his way out of the graveyard and barely surviving Voldemort's trap, everyone was somehow managing to be even worse to him, accusing him of murder and locking him up like the criminals he had fought so desperately against.

Because of the window in his cell, Harry was able to keep a fairly accurate measure of how much time had passed in the prison, and could give a fair estimation as to how much time he had spent rotting in his cell – it had been almost exactly two weeks, give or take a few hours. Why hadn't Dumbledore visited him even once to discuss the trial with him? Why hadn't his friends written a single letter to him? It's not like the few minutes to put quill to paper would kill them. And Harry could only imagine the fun Rita Skeeter and Cornelius Fudge were having by dragging his name through the mud again, and like good little sheep the wizarding populace was probably eating it all up. Harry felt completely alone and isolated from everyone and everything; he finally understood why solitary confinement was such a tough punishment for felons who had committed some of the worst crimes – humans were social creatures, and isolating them could have a severe negative affect on a persons psyche.

Being without any form of human interaction for two weeks had slowly started to slightly alter his perception of the world around him; it was because of Harry's newly altered perception of reality that he completely froze when the door to his cell suddenly creaked open, with no one around to open it. Not trusting his senses and thinking his mind was now playing tricks on him, he quickly put on his still damp clothing, never taking his eyes off the open doorway. Still shivering, he cautiously made his way towards the open metal door, and was actually surprised when he was able to simply exit his cell. Tightly hugging himself to regain some warmth, Harry's slightly deluded mind decided he had enough of Nurmengard's 'welcome hospitality', and began jogging to his right, which he remembered as the direction he first came from when he was thrown in his cell.

Harry could hear the explosions and screams of battle in the distance, coming from the path in front of him. Without thought, Harry instinctively began to crouch down and stay close to the wall, trying to make himself as silent and stealthy as possible. Harry could hear quiet voices as he came to a sharp turn in the path, and crouching on his knees, peeked around the corner.

'_Shit_,' Harry thought, as he quickly hid back behind the wall again; he had thought that the men he had heard were farther away because of how faint their voices were, but they were actually whispering just around the corner. It was only dumb luck that neither man had actually seen him, as he was crouched down and they were too focused on their discussion to notice him. Harry was further annoyed when he tried to listen in to what they were saying and realized they were speaking in a different language; the only thing Harry could pick up was that they both sounded excited about something, and Harry had no desire to find out about what. He could easily tell that they were not the prison's guards, as they had worn grey uniforms, while the men he had just seen had worn a crimson red outfit, which reminded Harry eerily of something he had once seen in his Muggle history books before he came to Hogwarts.

Harry quickly began looking around him for a place to hide, but the hall was mostly filled with empty, open cells. Before he could make a decision about what to do, the two men had turned the corner and had almost walked over Harry; Without thinking, Harry automatically did the first thing that came to mind, and punched the first man as hard as he could right in the balls.

As the first man dropped to the floor, clutching himself and groaning in pain, Harry launched himself forward, punching the other man in the face and knocking him to the side, before dashing around him, frantically looking for an escape. Harry heard an angry shout from behind him, which he assumed to be a curse, before he quickly dropped to the ground and rolled right, barley dodging a fierce red light that zipped past him. Before he could get back up, he was blasted backwards with a spell that locked his arms and legs into place firmly, preventing any movement.

The two men quickly approached him, both looking furious. The first man he had hit began spitting out what Harry assumed were insults and threats by the way he was saying them, before he leveled his wand between Harry's eyes. His partner however wore a calculating expression as his initial anger wore off. Quickly placing his had over the wand his partner had aimed at Harry, he began whispering in the other man's ear, pointing to Harry's forehead.

'_They know who I am_,' Harry quickly pieced together, realizing they were actually pointing to his scar. Harry's sense of foreboding grew when he saw a twisted gleam enter the eyes of the first man who was about to attack him. Pointing their wands at him, Harry could feel the petrifaction wear off. As he slowly stood, neither man broke eye contact with him.

"Weitergehen," the second man snapped at Harry.

"Huh?" Harry intelligently responded, completely confused about what they were saying and wondering what they were going to do with him.

"_Move_," the first man growled, his English heavily accented, as he jerked forward with his wand.

Keeping both his hands exposed and visible, Harry was marched forward with the two men closely following him. They both seemed to be very intense individuals, and Harry could practically feel their stares drilling into his back. As he was lead forward, the only sound the men made was the occasional grunt of either "left" or "right" to tell him where to go; the halls however, were not quiet. Harry could still hear the sound of distant battle, and the calm control that Harry could feel coming from the two men was his final proof that whoever these men were, they were not allied with the prison guards. The further along he walked, the fainter the sound of battle became; Harry didn't believe it was because he was walking further from the fighting, but because the fighting was almost over, and one side had almost won. Trying to keep his wits about him, Harry began to pay careful attention to the path he was walking down, trying to notice any rooms that seemed important, or any stairways he could use to escape. He eventually noticed one stairway, but it lead upwards instead of down, and seeing as he was in some sort of tower, he decided to try and remember it's location, but would much rather a safe route downward.

Harry was lead into a large chamber, which was surrounded by people wearing the same stylized red cloaks as his captors were. He was pushed towards a line of people in the center of the room, but Harry tried to hang back a bit to try and figure out exactly what was going on. Harry's confusion escalated when five more people were shoved forward into the space between him and the other prisoners; the ruffled man who now stood beside him was one of the few Harry could honestly say he actually despised – the British Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

The Minister sent Harry an indistinguishable look before he turned his face forwards towards the man who now seemed to be in charge of things. With the exception of several pieces of armor over a fanciful and decorative cloak, the man was dressed very similar to his subordinates. What really stood out to Harry was the way he carried himself; with the same all-knowing air as Dumbledore, but with none of the caring warmth the headmaster seemed to exude. The man's eyes held a jagged harshness to them, displaying a hidden cruelty that he didn't seem to care about revealing. It was like looking into a shattered mirror of Dumbledore, a dark reflection of the kind headmaster; for a brief moment, Harry wondered if this was what people saw when they viewed either himself or Voldemort…

Shaking his head to rid himself of his foolish thoughts, as if _he_ could really be Voldemort's equal, Harry once again focused on the man before him, watching as a twisted smirk began to cover his face. The crimson robed individuals began to tightly circle the line that Harry now stood at the end of, and they all had their wands out, ready to hex anyone who tried to escape.

"Welcome, fellow convicts of Nurmengard prison, and…" the man said in lightly accented English, as he paused to smirk at the British Minister and his group, "our _honored_ special guests. Today, the future of the world will be forever changed, and you may all get the special privilege of enjoying front row seats to the complete destruction of the magical world as we know it."

Despite the overwhelming odds against them, many of the people in the line-up gave angry squawks and mutters at the man's bold statement. "Your insane Grindelwald!" an obese man towards the other end of the line spoke up, his fluffy grey mustache quivering in indignation. "Even if you could destroy the whole world, you'd have to be mad to try!"

Harry felt himself tense when he heard the man's name – Gellert Grindelwald, the Dark Lord who started World War II and plunged Europe into chaos. Harry had heard of the man's widespread fame and knew that Dumbledore was the one who had finally managed to defeat him, but Harry had always assumed 'defeated' meant 'dead' – apparently he was wrong, and once again another misconception on his part had seemed to come back to haunt him.

The grin on Grindelwald's face seemed to hold a manic twist to it as he responded, "I never said I wanted to destroy the _whole world_, Babbel, just the magical world as it currently stands. All my years of anguish and toil will finally come to fruition on this one glorious day. I will finally cleanse all the filth and riff-raff that pollutes our society and corrupts our morals so shamelessly, and lead us all into a new golden age of prosperity for the pure; _all for the greater good_!"

"_Für das größere Ganze_!" Grindelwald's crimson cloaked followers chanted loudly, as if programmed to automatically spew forth the man's twisted rhetoric on command. Harry could only assume they were chanting the phrase 'for the greater good', which he could now recall had been on the entry doors to the prison. Looking closer, Harry could also see the triangular symbol they all wore on their left sleeve was the same as the one on the prison doors as well. He could vaguely recall Hermione telling him that Grindelwald was the one who had built Nurmengard during a rant she gave him after he had slept through a History of Magic class, but why was the man finally breaking out now, after so many years of being imprisoned? Was he trying to reclaim his property, Nurmengard prison, or just escape the fortress he himself had built?

"Madness," the man Harry now knew as Babbel quietly spoke, his face seeming to pale at the realization of Grindelwald's words.

"Madness?" the Dark Lord chuckled, "I think not; madness would be to allow our proud society to further rot under the inept false leaders it currently holds. All throughout history, true leaders have had to answer the call of duty in order to right the wrongs they perceived in the world around them. I am merely the next revolutionary in a long line of rebels, seeing to liberate the magical worlds from the mire it now wallows in and elevate it to its proper place. As we speak, my Purifiers are readying themselves to topple your government's leaders and install our own forces, while my elite soldiers are coming here to Nurmengard in order to reinforce our defenses. There's really nothing you can do to change the current situation as everything is playing out just as it should; you are all just tiny ant's that are about to be swept away in the raging tide's of history."

Everyone in the room seemed frozen from Grindelwald's deluded rant, with his crimson 'Purifiers' eating up his words like gospel, while Harry and the others thought he was nothing more then a power-hungry maniac. Grindelwald's speech about 'purity' and 'control' forcibly reminded Harry of the same ideology that Voldemort loved to spew forth; with idiots like Fudge and Skeeter sticking their corrupt heads in the sand and blatant racists like Voldemort and Grindelwald spreading their rhetoric to the unquestioning masses, Harry had to wonder about the collective intelligence of the wizarding world - if in fact there actually was any.

"There is, however, one small hitch," Gindelwald calmly stated. "Many of you are neither needed nor wanted here, and have all been thrown into Nurmengard so that you could be silenced and forgotten to the world. If _they_ don't want you, of what possible use could you lot be to _me_?"

As several people within the line-up started to squirm nervously, Babbel sputtered, "What possible use? We were all locked up in this prison because we knew too much! The knowledge we possess could ruin nations! All the dirty little secrets of Europe have been locked away in this very prison. Just for our knowledge alone we are far too valuable to kill," Babbel stated confidently.

Grindelwald scoffed, "For your knowledge? You seem to underestimate just how deep my informants have gotten inside your government agencies. You, Erwin Babbel, were the former Austrian Magical Minister of Finance, and were involved in numerous bribery, embezzlement, and money laundering schemes. However your obscene misappropriation of the government and taxpayer's money wasn't what landed you here in Nurmengard, but it was the scandalous affair you had with the former Austrian Minister of Magic, Barbel Grosskopf." A twisted sneer began to form on Grindelwald's mischievous face, "adultery won't usually land you in prison, but using your affair to obtain highly classified state secrets certainly would. You found out that a splinter-cell within the Austrian Ministry was in cahoots with a subversive militant group looking to start a new war in order to settle some pathetic religious grudge, while thinning out the number of Muggles in Europe by using them as cannon-fodder. A brilliant idea used to trick the masses, considering it was my own. In order to ensure Austria successfully joined its forces together with Germany, you were thrown into prison, and then latter transferred here when you proved you couldn't keep your pathetic mouth shut. It's actually a minor miracle that you are still alive considering what you learned about the war in advance."

"Y-You wouldn't dare execute me! I still know many secrets besides those, and they could still be useful to you!" Babbel panicked. Harry could actually see the balding man fidgeting and sweating from the other end of the line-up.

"Hmmm…doubtful, but still possible," Grindelwald thought out loud. Pointing his wand at the obese elder, Grindelwald hissed, "_Legilimens_." Babbel gasped in pain and quickly began to convulse, as his mind was seemingly ransacked for information. Once Babbel had begun to froth at the mouth, Grindelwald lowered his wand and canceled the spell. "You were right, Babbel - you do have many secrets I was unaware of. I had no idea you liked young boys even more then you enjoy the company of ugly women who look like men."

Babbel's face turned red as he made an odd gurgling sound, but quickly paled when Grindelwald continued, "But now that I have seen inside your mind, of what use could you possibly now serve me?

"P-Please! Don't use the killing curse on me!" Babbel begged desperately.

A charming smile formed across Grindelwald's face, but Harry noticed it didn't reach his cold eyes. "Don't fret Babbel, I won't use the Killing Curse on you," Gindelwald spoke calmly, before raising his wand and using a Reductor Curse to blow the man's head to pieces, showering the inmates beside him in blood and gore. As Babbel's headless corpse fell to the floor, Minister Fudge threw-up violently next to Harry, nearly spraying his shoes with vomit; Harry only barely managed to avoid vomiting himself as the metallic smell of blood began to fill his nostrils, but he held his breakfast in because he had seen this sort of carnage before, caused by his own hand no less after Voldemort had been resurrected.

"As I have already said, the cogs of fate have already started to turn, and can no longer be stopped," Grindelwald continued calmly, as if he had not just murdered a man in cold blood. "Most of you are simply unintended victims who just happen to now find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. I neither needed nor wanted most of you here; if you must blame someone for your dismal circumstance, either blame the corrupt fools who locked you away for their own pointless carriers, or yourself for your insistent curiosity that landed you here."

With his self-indulgent speech over with, Grindelwald began to cast Legilimency on the nearby convicts to learn any new secrets their minds may hold, before brutally executing them by completely blowing their heads off. Being completely surrounded on all sides by the Purifiers, the situation seemed completely hopeless. Many of the convicts began to beg for mercy, falling to their knees and wailing for their lives, before Grindelwald emotionlessly mind-raped them before gruesomely killing them, splattering the remains of their heads about and covering the floor in blood and brain matter. The more resigned of the group began to either cry or prey to whatever deity they worshiped, before they too joined the headless corpses that now littered the floor. There were a few who chose to stand defiantly, tall and proud as if they wished to die with some semblance of dignity – Grindelwald seemed to enjoy breaking them the most, ruthlessly rampaging through their minds till they were screaming incoherently on the ground, begging the twisted Dark Lord for death.

At the very end of the line, Harry tried to tone out the screams of pain and pleads for mercy while he started to panic internally – how the hell did he always end up in these crazy situations? If Harry stood still like a good little hostage, he would have his mind brutally raped and be executed, but if he tried to move or escape, he would be shot down violently and possible tortured severely before they finally killed him; frankly, both choices were equally lousy and almost certainly lead to his death, a lose-lose situation. The only thing Harry could think of was that he refused to simply die without a fight, having suffered far too much to let his life end without some sort of a struggle. The only options he could see were to either try and make a suicidal run for the Purifiers and hope to slip through, or wait till just before Grindelwald would cast Legilimency against him, and make a suicidal attack against the man without a wand – both ideas were almost equally terrible and doomed to failure.

Harry's desperate thoughts were brought to an abrupt end when one of the men Fudge had come in with suddenly removed a small hidden wand and screamed, "_Confringo_!" A deafening blast and an explosive yellow light erupted from the man's wand, flying straight towards Gindelwald. The Dark Lord quickly waved his wand in a wide arc, sending the spell sideways into several members of his own guard, killing them in a blast of gore and destroying a large section of the floor and wall behind them while filling the chamber with smoke and debris.

The explosion knocked Harry to the floor, saving him when the Purifiers began to respond as one of the men sent a purple wave of fire that just barely missed him and struck another man in the line-up, but not the one who had first attacked. As if acting on some hidden signal, the remaining prisoners took advantage of the chaos to attempt an escape, surging forward towards the open gap left by the first Blasting Hex fired as the air became suffocated with thick dust and spell fire. Keeping low to the floor, Harry had to question the sanity of everyone in the chamber, himself included, for even contemplating this ridiculous type of escape attempt. Blasts of light flew overhead rapidly, even though there was only one opponent fighting the Purifiers who had a wand, and the rest were defenseless inmates. Harry had no doubt that several of his captives had actually blasted their own comrades in the chaos of the short skirmish, and hadn't even noticed, but had just kept firing into the swarming mass of people desperately trying to survive.

Three of the men who had been with Fudge had quickly approached several fallen Purifiers and taken their wands, while the first man continued to chaotically shoot spells everywhere, adding to the dust and confusion that filled the chamber. Fudge was then quickly lead off by what Harry could now assume were his guards, crouching low to avoid the increased spell fire as several of the inmates had also now stolen wands from their downed captives and began to fight back. As the Minister and his entourage disappeared into the dust and smoke, Harry saw the first man who had caused all the fighting get viciously torn in half by a powerful black spell that once again shook the chamber.

Seeing Grindelwald emerge from the dark plume, his face twisted into an angry sneer, Harry decided he needed to get out of the room while he still had the chance. Seeing the Dark Lord begin to ruthlessly tear through the panicked hoard of prisoners still surging through the hole that was made from the first explosion, Harry decided to head in the opposite direction, away from the rapidly growing pile of corpses. He crawled quickly towards the door that he had first entered the chamber through, keeping a close eye out for any discarded wands or possible attackers. The two bodies he crawled over had both of their wands missing, either stolen or, in the case of the man with no right arm, probably completely destroyed. He did however see a small dagger in a sheath attached to the man's belt, which Harry quickly took for himself before moving on through the door and out of the chaotic chamber.

* * *

Grindelwald was literally seeing red, as another crescent of crimson light flew from his wand into the squirming mass of panicked inmates trying to escape. If there was anything he had learned from his long life, it was that the smallest chinks in a plan could lead to a catastrophic failure. The oversight of not checking Fudge's Auror's for a second wand would lead to a severe punishment for the Purifiers responsible, assuming they weren't already dead from the carnage that surrounded them.

One of the more foolhardy inmates that had managed to obtain a wand decided it was actually a good idea to attack Grindelwald directly. He launched a pale blue orb towards the Dark Lord, who easily batted the attack back towards the man, who himself barely managed to dodge the spell. The blue hex hit another inmate, who yelled in shock as all the bones in his body quickly vanished, and his limp, fleshy body collapsed to the ground, completely unsupported by anything. The inmate then fired a Killing Curse at Grindelwald in his haste to finish the Dark Lord; Grindelwald quickly summoned the boneless inmate to intercept the lethal spell, before he banished the now dead corpse at the fool that had dared to attack him. The inmate quickly tried to get the rubber-like corpse off him, but was hit with a powerful Cruciatus Curse before he could defend.

Grindelwald vented all of his anger and frustration into the torture curse, exponentially increasing its power. As the tortured inmate screamed himself hoarse beneath him, Grindelwald looked around at the now ruined chamber, or at least what was left of it. Judging by the amount of bodies that littered the floor, about a fourth of the inmates had escaped into the prison, while he himself had executed another fourth and the remaining half had been killed in their desperate attempt to escape. He didn't really care about all the little worms who had managed to temporarily outrun the reaper, but the two captives that he was concerned about had also managed escaped in the chaos, considering he couldn't see their corpses anywhere in the ruined chamber.

Looking down at the frothing pile of human waste at his feet, Grindelwald finally lifted the Cruciatus Curse. The man's mind had likely completely snapped from all the strain from the curse, but just in case…

"_Avada Kedavera_!" Grindelwald muttered distractedly, quickly ending the now deranged inmate's life. He had to get those two important captives back if he was to have any leverage in case his elite soldiers, '_Auserwählte_', or the '_Chosen Ones_' didn't show up in time to head off the ministry's troops when they would inevitably arrive.

Feeling his pocket tremble, Grindelwald removed the communication mirror and activated it to see the face of one of his Purifiers that had taken one of the five towering turrets that were stationed along the fortresses' outer wall.

"Mein Führer, the German Ministry has sent out the Gegentaktik to reclaim the prison, and they have just torn a small hole in the wards," the soldier quickly reported, "Your orders, sir?"

Grindelwald frowned; he had not counted on the German Ministry responding this early, and if so, he thought they would only send out a regular scout team to assess the situation, not deploy the Gegentaktik forces. It was a minor ripple, but his Purifiers should be able to give the Ministry's dogs a good bit of resistance, as they were all on Grindelwald's turf.

"Kill them all, and then confiscate their wands. I don't want any survivors left to cause us any problems," Grindelwald ordered coldly. The soldier quickly saluted and then deactivated his mirror.

The Dark Lord turned to the woman who now stood next to him, his second in command, Kriemhild Abendroth, and spoke, "Find the other prisoners and kill them all. Leave the other two we spoke of alive for me." The attractive, if rather severe looking blonde quickly saluted. With a clipped, "Mein Führer," Abendroth gave the orders to all the other Purifiers to go and quickly complete his orders.

Walking over to a nearby window, Gindelwald watched the courtyard in front of the main gate through the bars, waiting for the blood bath to begin. He wasn't overly concerned that things had not gone perfectly to plan, as the German Ministry's soldiers were about to be mowed down, and any survivors would be quickly dealt with inside the fortress. As for his two escaped captives, Grindelwald wasn't overly concerned; Cornelius Fudge was never fully out from under his wide range of sight, and would be rounded up shortly, while Harry Potter was just an underage wizard without a wand and in over his head. While he may have put up a respectable defense in the Little Hangleton cemetery, the boy was facing far steeper odds inside Nurmengard, and stood no chance of victory. After all, what kind of resistance could a defenseless teen on the run possibly put up against his combined forces?


	3. Gegentaktik

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and I'm not getting paid anything for writing this, so keep your damn lawyers away. BEGONE!

_**Quick AN: **_Sorry about the long wait; My computer crapped out on me and the damn thing took forever for me to get fixed. Updates for this story should go back to being either weekly or bi-weekly from here on out.

**Nurmengard**

_Chapter 3: Gegentaktik_

A debatable truth of this world is that only assholes obtain power – a rather bold statement, but one that seems to hold an uncomfortable amount of weight based on experience. It doesn't matter if it's a four-star General that insists on screaming at his subordinates for the tiniest infractions, a politician that consistently makes promises they have no intention of keeping, or even a boss at a small business that insists on shoveling massive piles of work on their employees while they sit back and complain about everything. In the end, with the exception of a scant few decent people, it seems that the majority of those in power are all complete and total assholes with no interests besides their own.

But why do only assholes become powerful? Do they all have some sort of unique drive that makes them all seek out power in order to lord it over others, making themselves feel superior to everyone else? Were they all perhaps bullied as children, and not given enough hugs when they were little? Is it possible they were actually good people who were changed when they agreed to take on the mantle of responsibility? The expression 'power corrupts' exists for a reason after all. Does it mean that everyone is destined have to work under the oppressive thumb of some asshole when they grow older?

Of course, it is possible that a persons perception of the situation to be slightly skewed. A General might be screaming at his subordinates because said 'tiny infraction' could have massive implications on the bigger picture that only the General and his superiors know about. A politician may make a bold and earnest promise for a desperately needed change, but discover when they are elected that change either is impossible to make, or requires a great deal of time and effort to accomplish, and might not actually be possible to achieve within their current means. A boss at a small business may have had a massive pile of work suddenly shifted towards them for reasons beyond their control, and have to delegate as much of it out to their employees in order to get it, as well as their own work, accomplished on time. There could be an almost infinite number of reasons for one person's actions towards another, some noble and well-intentioned, while others are deceptive and vindictive.

Ehren Töpfer, Sergeant within the German magical military unit, Gegentaktik, was inclined to believe they were all assholes. Töpfer was fully aware there were a great number of people in the world who were leaders as well being friendly and supportive people, but why the hell did all the assholes have to seemingly drift into his life with no other apparent purpose then to piss him off?

Sergeant Töpfer's discontent with authority had begun very early in his life, when he was born in East Berlin, under the communist control of the German Democratic Republic. He was a Muggle-Born and from a very early age remembered feeling like a caged bird with its wings clipped, yearning desperately for flight. Every day he would go to see the Berlin Wall, and be amazed at the vast differences in life that one-hundred meters could make – for someone in East Berlin, those one-hundred meters felt more like one-hundred miles. You could see freedom in the distance, but it never seemed like you could ever touch it, and it was maddening.

Still, the threat of possible death and imprisonment didn't stop some brave souls from attempting to cross the wall and go through No-Man's Land in order to obtain freedom. When Töpfer was ten his twenty year-old brother, Ellard, decided he would attempt to cross the wall and meet up with the Töpfer's who lived in West Berlin, and had been first separated from them by a simple matter of where they happened to live in Berlin in the 1950's. Late at night he grappled over the first three-meter high wall, managing to get through the barbed wire at the top and crossing over into the barren expanse on the other side. Ellard then stealthily began to make his way across the No-Man's Land that was commonly referred to as 'The Death Strip' due to the high mortality rate of those who attempted to cross. Unfortunately, a guard dog picked up his scent and the alarms were sounded. Once the spotlights hit Ellard and he reached the twenty meter stretch of sand half-way between the walls, the border patrol began to open fire. The East German Military were forced to follow 'Order 101', which was more commonly referred to as '_Schießbefehl_' or '_Firing Order_' stating that anyone who tried to cross the border was to be shot if they didn't desist, and Ellard was gunned down, being shot in the back seven times.

After his brother's death, Töpfer became filled with despair and rage, and often got into fights with anyone who called Ellard '_Republikflüchtling,_' or '_fugitive from the republic_'. He had always seen his older brother as somewhat of a role-model, and after he was killed, Töpfer saw him as nothing short of a hero, fighting against the odds for the slim hope of freedom. Töpfer, along with his best friend Raimund Richter, began to try and plan their own daring escape from communist Europe for when they were older when their big beak arrived – a little over a year after Ellard was killed, both of the boys had received letters to attend a magical school called Durmstrang, which was hidden away from the Muggle communist regime. Astounded, both families had seen this as a chance for their children to have the freedom they were denied, and had gladly sent them of to the magical boarding school once it was proved to not be a cruel hoax by a wizard who had visited them.

While the hidden magical world had mostly no contact with their Muggle counterparts, they did usually respect their laws; the wizards that came to take them to school had them travel there by walking through a massive fire place filled with green flames, however they forbid their families from using that method of transportation as the wizarding world tried to stay out of Muggle affairs when possible. For six years, Töpfer and Richter studied the magical arts at Durmstrang, excelling at everything they put their minds to, and when Töpfer first turned seventeen, the first thing he did was get his apparition license from the German Zauberministerium, or Ministry of Magic, and illegally used it to apparate both his and Richter's family across the wall to their relatives in West Berlin.

With lighter hearts, the two friends finished their final year of schooling at Durmstrang, and having a deep seated hatred of intolerance and injustice born from growing up in post-war Germany, decided to join the German Ministry's own tactical police and counter-terrorism division, Gegentaktik, in order to help prevent the misery they had both experienced. However, the biggest problem they soon had with Gegentaktik was the same problem that infested both Durmstrang and the magical world as a whole: their blatant disregard of anything that didn't directly involve themselves. It was maddening that the people of the magical world could wield so much power, but were hesitant to lift a finger because they believed they would ruffle the feathers of some left-wing communist dictator who both Töpfer and Richter believed would serve the world better my marching straight out into the Death Strip and having themselves shot.

During the three year training program to become fit and knowledgeable enough to join the elite Gegentaktik forces and uphold the law, both Töpfer and Richter blatantly broke the law at least once a week by apparating groups of Muggles into West Berlin and other locations away from the control of communist Europe, and any time they were caught by the communist forces, they would simply Obliviate them and learn from their mistakes. They considered it to be 'additional improvisational training' in regards to clandestine undercover hostage retrieval; the fact that with every successful group apparition they were slowly weakening communist Europe and defying the oppressive regime was icing on the cake for them.

It was shortly into their third year of training when, on the 9th of November, 1989, that both Töpfer and Richter got to live one of their greatest dreams, as they both picked up a pick-axe and began to tear down the oppressive Berlin Wall with all the other demonstrators. For years both teens had desperately wanted to just blast the entire wall to pieces with a few Blasting Hex's, but actually taking the wall apart with their bare hands gave them both a deep feeling of satisfaction that neither could ever fully describe – it was a precious memory that would fuel their Patronus' and live in their heart for years to come.

Of course, even with one of their biggest sources of rage out of the way, others still remained. Trying to become a soldier within Gegentaktik was no easy feat, and the harsh and demanding instructors didn't endear themselves to their students – their job was to prepare their trainees for battle, not to make friends.

It was during their harshest training exercise several months after the fall of the Berlin Wall that everything changed for the two friends. Töpfer and Richter were both stationed to the same 'Element', or 'assault team', consisting of their Element leader, two assaulters, a scout, and a rear guard. Töpfer and Richter were both designated to act as the assaulters for their Element, and help take-out the other trainees, who were split into three other five-person Element teams. What no one knew however was that Brigadier General Meinhard Schwarz had been in the building for other business, but had decided to participate in the exercise in order to 'toughen up' the new recruits and formed his own fifth Element team.

The one-star Brigadier General then proceeded to navigate his team throughout the battlefield, wiping out the other three Element's brutally and without remorse. Töpfer and Richter's team had no idea of the change till Schwarz's Element was already on them, quickly taking out their rear guard and team leader in an overwhelming hail of spell fire. When their teams scout was disabled with a vicious Bone-Breaker Hex, Richter rushed towards Schwarz and launched a red wave of energy, meant to knock back their opponents to give time to attempt to revive their fallen comrades; Brigadier General Schwarz, however, seemed to take this almost as a personal insult and sent a crippling Reductor Curse at Richter, whose left leg exploded in a shower of blood and gore. Howling in pain, Richter fell to the ground and clutched what was left of his left leg, while a furious Töpfer charged forward in his friend's defense. Before he could kill the man who has so carelessly crippled his best friend, Töpfer was knocked unconscious by a vicious crimson light. It wasn't till he awoke in the medical wing with a severe concussion that he discovered the improvised addition to his platoon's battle scenario.

While Töpfer was fully healed within a day thanks to magic, Richter's injury was crippling, and although through several different medical procedures they were able to grow his leg back, it never worked quite the same as it once did. Richter was forced to undergo extensive physiotherapy for a year to learn how to walk again, and although he eventually succeeded, his leg would still cramp up after heavy strain, which according to the Gegentaktik commanders was a liability on the field that they could not afford.

Because of injuries given by one of their own Brigadier General's, Richter was forced to quit his Gegentaktik training only months from completion. Almost as if trying to put a pathetic, half-assed resolution to the whole dismal affair, the Gegentaktik officials managed to get Richter a job at Nurmengard as a security guard when he had finally recovered. It was a sad end to Richter's dream of fighting oppression and helping others that the two friends had shared for so many years.

Although he still regularly kept in touch with his best friend, Töpfer became even more jaded by the numerous disappointments in his life and of the lives of those he considered precious. Swearing to carry on Richter's dream for the both of them, Töpfer completed his training and managed to become an assaulter on one of the Gegentaktik Elemental patrols. After four years in service, the twenty-five year-old Töpfer had managed to become a Sergeant and the team leader to his own Element squad.

Despite the limited success he had encountered in his career, Töpfer still held a deep seated mistrust of authority and a resistance to blindly follow their rules, causing him to get yelled at and disciplined by his superiors on a regular basis. There were certain orders that his conscience refused to allow him to follow. One recent example would be when his Element were dealing with a hostage crisis in the town of Gütersloh, where a group of magical thieves had tried to escape from the Gegentaktik patrols and taken a Muggle family hostage, threatening to kill them all. Töpfer's orders, as given by one of his commanding officers, Captain Adhemar Hitzig, were to "apprehend all criminals at any cost, regardless of civilian casualties". Having absolutely no intention of following any order that would condemn an innocent family to death, Töpfer commanded his Element to infiltrate the house and secure the family first, before apprehending the thieves. While all of the family was successfully rescued, one of the thieves escaped, apparently having stolen highly classified data.

Töpfer had barely escaped a dishonorable discharge for disregarding a direct order from a superior officer and was now being watched closely while officials combed through his military records; it wouldn't surprise him in the least if he was demoted or arrested any day now. His entire team was sent to Bavaria along with Captain Hitzig's Element in order to conduct harsh 'obedience drills'. This was the current situation Töpfer now found himself in, having to play the obedient grunt to some asshole who placed no value on human life.

It was during another one of their exhausting morning drills that Captain Hitzig first received word of a riot happening within Nurmengard prison. By chance both Hitzig and Töpfer's Elements were only a few short miles from the prison, well within the twenty–mile wide anti-apparation wards and as such were the closest Gegentaktik personnel to the fortress. The ten armed soldiers were to enter the prison and assist the guards in suppressing the revolt long enough for additional Elements to arrive and assist them.

Using the brooms they had used to get to their remote training area, the two Element squads quickly flew towards the prison. Once they had reached to edge of the tree line before entering the open area surrounding the fortresses outer wall, Captain Hitzig told the two teams to quickly check their equipment before starting the operation.

While his other team members quickly went over their supplies, Töpfer pulled out a tiny, pink compact mirror. It looked like a silly beauty mirror that some Muggle women would use to check their appearance, and was too ridiculous for anyone to confiscate from him should he be inspected or captured. The compact mirror was actually a highly modified communications mirror, exchanging the ability to communicate with multiple mirrors for an extended transmission distance. The only other mirror that could pick up signals from Töpfer's was an identical one held by Richter. Biting the inside of his cheek, Töpfer quickly spit some of the blood onto the compact, watching as the mirror dimly lit up, showing it had activated. After waiting for a minute, the worried Töpfer quickly wiped his blood from the mirror, de-activating it before pocketing it again; Richter had _never_ failed to respond to their mirrors before.

Joining the two Elements in the pre-mission huddle, Captain Hitzig gave them all a quick rundown of the prisons overall layout. "The prison's stairways are purposely designed to disorient and confuse unwanted visitors who make their way inside, or to confuse convicts trying to escape. Of course, there is always a method to the madness in which Grindelwald used to construct his prison, and as long as you keep the information I just gave you in mind, you should not become lost. Our job is simple, gentlemen: we enter Nurmengard and kill anything that moves. It's as simple as that."

"What?" Töpfer exclaimed, alarmed, "What about the prison guards who are still alive and any inmates who didn't participate in the riot?"

Hitzig looked at Töpfer coldly, "There is little to no chance for any of the guards in the prison to still be alive. If they are, then give them to me and I'll deal with them. As for the prisoners, they are _all_ to be executed, as per Lieutenant General Meinhard Schwarz's personal command. Am I clear?" Hitzig calmly demanded, with a hint of a threat in his voice.

"But…" Töpfer quickly responded, before he was cut short by his Captain.

"Are you disobeying another direct order from a superior officer? As I said, these orders come from the Lieutenant General, a commissioned superior officer. The penalty for disobeying _another_ direct order will be a dishonorable discharge and guaranteed jail time, if not outright execution. _Am I clear, Sergeant_?" Hitzig snarled coldly, with his wand aimed directly at Töpfer's heart.

Töpfer could literally feel himself shaking with anger; after Richter had been disabled during training, there had been absolutely no repercussions for Meinhard Schwarz's actions against him. In the four years since the event the asshole had managed to jump two military ranks, going from a one-star Brigadier General to a three-star Lieutenant General. Even now the asshole held no regard for the sanctity of life in any form. Captain Hitzig wasn't much better, and would probably sell out his own mother if he thought it would help get him promoted. Töpfer hated them both, but even someone as emotional as him could see the thin line he was now walking on with his commanding officers.

"_Yes sir_," Töpfer ground out, trying to keep the malice out of his tone. If this asshole actually thought he was just going to hand his best friend over to them so they could do Merlin knows what to him, he was just as deluded as he was a narcissistic idiot. Töpfer decided he would continue to toe-the-line to avoid punishment…for now.

With a nod, Captain Hitzig then made a hand gesture that signaled that unless necessary, there was to be absolute silence. Casting a Disillusionment Charm on the entire group, both five-man Element's crept out of the cover of the forest and made their way quickly across the clearing to the prison. Once they were ten feet from the outer walls entrance gate the teams stopped and the team's two scouts began to pierce a small hole in the wards, just large enough for the men to get through. After ten minutes there was a slight ripple in the air in front of them, signaling the new hole in the wards had finally been created. Knowing that the remaining wards inside the courtyard would signal alarms against any illusion spells, the ten Gegentaktik members lowered their Disillusionment Charms and the two scouts opened the gate and each quickly turned around the doors edges, wands raised and ready to fire.; Both scouts were quickly sniped down from the two turrets along the outer wall that were nearest the main gates. Töpfer's scout had a small, scorched hole drilled straight through his heart, while Hitzig's scout had his head completely liquefied, making a large bloodied stain on the ground.

The remaining eight soldiers quickly raised a powerful shield around them as more spells splashed harmlessly against it, causing the glowing transparent barrier to ripple like water. At Hitzig's signal, the two Element's began to slowly make their way towards the prisons main structure, using a unique group formation. The two teams were lined up straight in a column marching formation next to each other, with a thin space between the two teams, just enough to allow two men to squeeze through. Each member would continuously pump their magic into the barrier except for the two rear soldiers, who would quickly rush into the small gap between the two Elements, using the cover provided by their comrades to quickly head towards the front of the formation, before once again adding their magic to the shields, allowing the two back soldiers to pull off the same trick they did. It was a slow moving formation, but was extremely safe as the only curses that could pass through were the Unforgivables, which all had a limited firing range; the formation was aptly named '_Schnecke_' or '_Snail_' for it's slow, but heavily guarded movement.

As the formation slowly approached the door, they kept crawling along till both assaulters for each team were at the front, where Töpfer's two soldiers quickly cast an Acceleration Charm, while Hitzig's cast a Blasting Hex. The four spell met, and together worked like a massive battering ram, blasting the entrance doors off their hinges and allowing entry into the fortress.

As a wave of spell fire quickly rained down on the eight Gegentaktik soldiers, they all reflexively raised another combination shield, saving them all except for one of Hitzig's assaulters, who died from a Killing Curse. As one, the remaining seven soldiers quickly lowered their wands in a forward swish, collapsing the shield in a way that all the magic maintaining it slid forward and surged towards the crimson robed fighters attacking them. All of the Purifiers in the hall were knocked back by the blast, giving Töpfer and Hitzig's Elements time to split-up, with Töpfer heading right and Hitzig heading left to find cover and counter attack.

The entry hall was a large room, in a semi-circular shape with the back wall being flat and having a high gallery running along the back wall supported by four pillars, which was now being used to snipe at the Elements. A large staircase led downward from the gallery's center in a fan formation; with the steps getting wider the closer they got to ground level. The only cover the Elements could take advantage of would be behind the four massive pillars that helped support the room's high ceiling. With a massive and expensive looking chandelier hanging in the center of the ceiling and intricate carvings in the pillars and walls, the entrance seemed far more suited to be in a grand castle then in a prison.

Töpfer's Element went for the cover the pillars provided, having two team members hiding behind each pillar. From the small cover provided, they could then start to attack the twelve soldiers stationed along the gallery shooting at them. Töpfer and the assaulter next to him both sent a Bombarda Spell straight towards the gallery, which was easily absorbed by the powerful shield that three of the Purifiers used, while another three sent a variety of hex's and curses towards them, which they were only barely able to avoid behind their pillar. The assaulter and rear guard behind him sent out another Blasting Hex - Acceleration Charm combo, which instead of being aimed straight at the Purifiers, was aimed at the gallery beneath them; the massive shield the three Purifiers still had erected reduced a significant amount of the damage that would have been caused, but was still able to make several large cracks in one of the support pillars and several in the handrail and balustrade holding the entire railing together. Seeing the cracks, Töpfer decided to make an unexpected attack, and he and his assaulter didn't attack the pillar again, like the Purifiers would have thought - they instead both sent a powerful Levitation Charm at one of the railings balustrade. The strength of their combined spells had enough force to make the balustrade crack through the damaged railing and send it straight into the skull of the middle soldier that made up the three Purifiers holding their shield, having it enter through the bottom of the jaw and get stuck halfway out the back of the man's head. With the center man holding the shield dead, it collapsed spectacularly inward, knocking the remaining two Purifiers backwards and giving Töpfer's Element a chance to strike back.

Unfortunately, everything changed when two of the attackers from each side shot a red beam of light at the ground floor, having them travel along the ground straight towards the four main pillars. "_CLAYMORE SEALS_!" Hitzig screamed as he and his two remaining team members quickly ran out from behind the pillars they were using for cover into open spell fire. Quickly looking down at the base of his own pillar, Töpfer could barely make out a tiny, familiar circular rune sequence.

'_Shit_!' Töpfer thought. Claymore Seals were based off the Muggle invention sharing the same name: it was a directional, anti-personnel mine that sprayed an explosive blast of lethal shrapnel outwards at a 60° arc for about one-hundred meters. The magical versions used runes and were extremely inconspicuous, making them perfect for ambushes as someone could actually stand right behind one and not be harmed, while anyone in front of one would be torn to shreds.

"_RUN_!" Töpfer screamed, grabbing the arm of the assaulter next to him and dragging the man out into the hail of spells that now pelted the floor around them. Töpfer didn't look back to see the red ribbons of light hit the runes, activating the Claymore Seals, but he knew when they hit as he was blasted forwards by the raw concussive wave of energy sent out. He could hear screams behind him and felt blood splatter against the left side of his face as he was launched forward through one of the entry hall's side door's, showering him in splinters of wood that pierced his skin. The wind was knocked out of Töpfer when he landed hard on the floor, as billowing smoke and flashes of light could be seen through the now ruined doorway, obscuring any view of the chaotic entry hall. With one more explosion the entire doorway collapsed, forcing Töpfer to shield himself from debris and blocking him off from the fight.

* * *

Escaping from the massacre that was happening in the large chamber behind him, Harry quickly made his way through the passageways of Nurmengard, following the trail that had first lead him into the chamber so he could find the only stairway he knew of that would lead him to a different floor. Finally seeing the ascending stairway he had passed earlier, Harry quickly made his was up it before he could be spotted by one of the Purifiers. The stairs suddenly began to twist and turn, just like they seemed to on all the other floors, till Harry finally saw the stairways exit.

Stepping out of the stairway, Harry nearly fell over the corpse of one of the prison guards, who looked like he had been killed trying to escape down the stairs. The man's back had a massive chunk torn out of it, as if a spell had simply scooped out most of his spine and ribcage. Not wanting to touch the body, but badly needing a way to defend himself, Harry turned the corpse over and began to search for a wand. Not only did Harry find there was no wand on the body, but it seemed all of his pockets had been quickly searched and emptied, as they had all been pulled out. Using his hand to close the guard's frozen, terror-stricken eyes, Harry quickly left the body and continued his search.

Straining his ears to hear the faintest sound, Harry quickly made his way through the abandoned hallways, trying hard not to make any sound. The further into the level he traveled, the more dead guard's he found. All the corpses had been horribly mauled, and Harry didn't think a single one had been killed using the Killing Curse. With a feeling of deep loathing, Harry began to carefully search the bodies, trying to be as quick as he could. It wasn't until he found a picture of a beautiful blonde woman with two young children that he suddenly stopped, disgusted with himself. While the corpse he had pulled the photo from no longer had a head, Harry believed that if was the same attractive woman in the picture, judging by the long strands of long, bloodied blonde hair that covered the wall where most of her head had been splattered. Staring at the picture, Harry realized that the woman's family would never be able to smile happily like that ever again; the joyous image captured in the photo seemed to silently mock him with the promise of a happy future that would never again be for the two young children. With a shiver, Harry quickly placed the photo back where he had found it on the guard's corpse, making a conscious effort to be more respectful of the deceased…at least, as much as he could, considering he was looting their bodies, even if it was for a good cause.

The body count began to increase as he entered a new area within the prison that seemed to pulse with magic. As he walked down a long, barren corridor Harry suddenly came to an abrupt halt; the feeling he was getting was a very familiar sensation that he only felt when he approached a heavily warded area, like Hogwarts or when he first entered the prison. It caused an odd tingling to spread through his body, and made him feel more alert like he had just had a massive surge of adrenaline. Straining his eyes, he couldn't see anything blatantly obvious down the hall, and decided to turn back and head down a different path, not wanting to risk drawing attention if the wards would trigger and sound some sort of alarm or unpleasant trap.

Turning down a new passageway, Harry found another set of stair leading upwards. With no better ideas, Harry went up the twisting stairway and managed to come out on the prison's rooftop. From this new vantage, Harry was finally able to get a good look at the bizarre layout of the overall prison. The entire structure was shaped like the symbol on the main doors and on the Purifiers uniforms: a massive, black triangular outer structure with a circular inner structure and a straight line structure bisecting the two. There were tiny turrets like the one he had left to get to the roof scattered around, connecting to different sections of the prison, as well as massive steel rope-ways connecting Nurmengard's different parts to one another across the roof and scattered randomly throughout the floors. By counting the barred windows Harry could tell the prison was twelve floors high and the walls were completely smooth, looking impossible to scale down or climb. There were five inner court yards between the prisons sections – three between the outer triangle and inner circle, and two inside the inner circle, which was divided by the straight structure that split the entire prison into two sections. Seeing the massive scale and complexity of the fortress, Harry suddenly felt very small and further began to doubt his odds of escaping the prison.

Harry was currently next to a turret on the inner circle, at about halfway between where it was intersected by the straight middle structure. At the very center of the circle, on the middle structure Harry could barely see a flagpole, with what he believed may have been another body at its base. Using a nearby rope-way, Harry quickly crossed the massive expanse between the two points, surprised by how sturdy the rope-way actually was. As he approached the flag pole, he could clearly see the dead guard's blood-stained gray robes, and a quick check of the corpse confirmed he had already been looted by the Purifiers for his wand and anything else of value.

Harry could see the man's blood staining the flag pole, as hoisting the flag upside-down seemed to have been the last thing the guard was doing before he was ruthlessly shoot in the black, drilling a massive hole through his chest. The flag itself bore the logo of the Ministry of Magic on it, which was a large M with a lit wand going vertically through the middle of it, while it had what Harry could recognize as the German Muggle flag behind it, which was three horizontal stripes starting with black at the top, before going to a deep red and then finishing with a golden yellow at the bottom. Harry could vaguely recall he had heard from someone that hoisting a flag upside-down was an old form of maritime distress signal, similar to sending out an SOS. Although Harry couldn't see how it would have helped the man or the other guard's, he decided to finish the dead guard's last goal, and began hoisting the flag himself.

The simple action of hoisting the flag, however, quickly came back to haunt him as he had once again forgot that things worked far differently in the magical world then in the Muggle world. When the upside down Ministry flag hit the top of the pole, the round metal ball at the pole's tip began to glow, before it became a blinding white light, pulsating at odd intervals.

Startled, Harry quickly jumped back, now aware that he had accidentally set of some sort of emergency distress beacon; this would have been good under other circumstances, but seeing as he was trying to escape the prison undetected, Harry was sure that Gindelwald's Purifiers would soon be heading to the roof to check on the disturbance. He quickly started to run down the long divider he was on that separated the two sections of the prison, heading towards a turret at the front of the prison, which was at the base of the triangular structure, instead of back pedaling across the metal rope bridge to the turret he had first come through. This proved to be a good idea as several Purifiers came from the first turret on the inner circle and started to shoot spells at him. Harry began to weave through the spell fire, grateful that he was far enough from the Purifiers that their aim was slightly off. A quick glance back let Harry see several more Purifiers come from several other turrets across the rooftop, with some shooting at him and others shooting at the flagpole's distress light, trying to destroy it.

With only twenty feet to go till he reached the turret he was running towards, Harry could see two more Purifiers come up from the stairway he was heading towards. As they aimed their wands, Harry quickly gave one last boost of speed and tackled the two men, knocking them to the side as he dove down the stairway between them. The spells both men were going to use against him flew from their wands into the turrets low roof, destroying it and causing the top section of the stairwell to collapse and cave in on itself, crushing the two Purifiers while Harry tumbled uncontrollably down the rapidly crumbling stairwell.


	4. Innocence

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and I'm not getting paid anything for writing this, so keep your damn lawyers away. BEGONE!

**Nurmengard**

_Chapter 4: Innocence_

As he hobbled down the corridor as quickly and silently as he could, Harry Potter's mind was solely focused on one thought: survival. For someone like Harry, having his thoughts focused on one single goal was unusual, as his mind tended to be a rather chaotic place, with many different thoughts drifting in and out quicker then he could usually grasp them. Usually the only time when his mind was this clear was when he was either flying, fighting for his life, or when he was in enough pain that all unnecessary thought was completely banished from his mind; considering the nasty fall he had taken down the stairwell while running for his life, Harry's current predicament matched two of the previous three criteria.

Diving down the stairwell had proved to have been a very good idea, as well as being incredibly stupid. He had barely escaped being crushed by the first explosive collapse of the rooftop turret, before the stairways weakened passage started to crack. Harry was lucky that he didn't break any bones with his initial dive into the stairwell, but he did manage to give his body a decent beating when he knocked the wind out of himself before tumbling quickly down the hard stone steps. Harry came to an abrupt halt when he slammed hard into the wall as the stairs took the first of many confusing turns. Despite his dizziness, Harry had enough wits to quickly crawl down the stairs, before more rocks quickly began to fill the space he had just occupied. While the oddly twisting stairwells had been anuisance totravel through, they had helped prevent the ceilings collapse from becoming any worse, saving Harry from being crushed while temporarily blocking him from any Purifiers that had been chasing him on the fortresses rooftop.

Realizing that he would soon have more Purifiers chasing him, Harry began to travel down the corridors as quickly as he battered body would allow; Harry wasn't even bothering to check the bodies of fallen prison guards that he passed, as they had likely already been looted by Grindelwald's forces. Even moving as quickly as he could, Harry was still able to notice the differences in his surroundings in the outer triangle of the prison, compared to the inner circular structure. The hallways of the inner circle were more narrow and confusing to travel down, while the cells were all heavily fortified, with only a small hole in the solid metal door to look through into the hallway. By comparison, the hallways of the outer triangle were almost twice as wide and easier to transverse, with cells that seemed to more closely resemble the classical 'open bars' look, where an inmate could literally stick his arm out between the bars, unless some sort of spell prevented it. All the cells were also modified to hold multiple prisoners, instead of only one as had been the case of the inner circle. Harry could only assume that he was now traveling through the section of the prison where average inmates were held, while the inner circle was for solitary confinement, where only the worst and most dangerous prisoners were sent to serve their time; if Harry wasn't so worried about being ambushed by Purifiers while almost completely defenseless, he would have been pissed off at the fact that he was sent to a solitary cell like some hardened criminal.

Through sheer luck, Harry had managed to find a stairway down without having to run into anyone, but as he descended to the eleventh floor, Harry's luck quickly ran out – at the bottom of the stairway were two men arguing with one another, blocking his exit to the floor below. Coming to a complete and sudden halt, Harry silently observed the two Purifiers from the shadows of the stairwell. Looking closely, Harry could tell they were the exact same men who had captured him before – Harry could recognize the prominent scowl of the man he had hit in the crotch and the odd buzz-cut hairstyle of his partner.

As quietly as possible, Harry slowly removed the dagger he had taken earlier from a dead Purifier from its leather sheath on Harry's belt. The dagger itself had an extremely odd design: a solid, leather wrapped handle with a black cross-guard in the shape of what Harry was now considering Grindelwald's personal mark, the triangular symbol all the Purifiers wore on their uniforms. The blade itself was wide and flat, with several intricate runes carved straight through the metal, leaving gaps in the blade. The dagger's main edge was extremely sharp, and went up one side of the blade where it curved backwards at the tip, before changing to an uneven series of sharp edges that protruded from the back of the blade at odd intervals. For such a small weapon, it had a very sinister appearance overall.

Holding the dagger with the smooth, sharp edge facing towards him, Harry began to slowly creep down the stairs, making sure to not make any noise and to stick to the shadows. Harry's mind was racing almost as fast as his heart-beat; he was seriously contemplating going over to the man whose back was turned to the stairs and stabbing him from behind. Normally, the thought of actually stabbing someone in the back would have been completely revolting to him, as it would have gone against almost everything not only he, but Griffindor House as a whole stood for. For the past four years of his life, it had been drilled into Harry's mind to uphold the unwritten code of chivalry and honor in battle, and killing an unsuspecting foe without warning went completely against those beliefs. Of course, bravely announcing his presence to the Purifiers would be the height to stupidity, and almost assuredly lead to his capture, if not his death.

Harry vividly remembered the battle against Voldemort and his Death Eaters after he was resurrected, and despite all the killing he had performed and blood he had spilled, he couldn't remember actually killing someone when their back was turned, but only in self-defense. Did it really make any difference if he killed the killers while their backs were turned? Why should he feel guilty for launching a sneak attack on men who had carelessly stood by while defenseless prisoners were tortured and executed in front of them? It wasn't like they were just some innocent bystander's who got caught in the crossfire, so why should it be wrong to attack the men from behind when they weren't properly guarding the stairwells like they were obviously supposed to?

Harry was well aware his current thought processes were slightly different then normal; In fact one could almost say it was rather Slytherin of him to think of stabbing a man from behind rather then risk a suicidal frontal confrontation. But was it really wrong of Harry to think that way? The Sorting Hat _did_ say Harry would do well in Slytherin House – maybe his inner snake was just finally beginning to surface due to all the crap he had been forced to deal with recently. It wasn't like he was some pure and wholesome entity: he had killed several people viciously several weeks ago, and had even killed his first human being, Professor Quirinus Quirrell, back when he was only eleven, assuming you didn't include the night when he first got his scar.

Harry could hide in the shadows and continue to split hairs on the moral issue till he was blue in the face, but seeing as he was backed into a corner with no other options, in the end it all boiled down to only one question: _them or me_?

After a brief moment's hesitation, Harry slowly crept forward, sticking to the shadows, and silently crouched just behind the Purifier who had his back to him, the calm one with the buzz-cut. Taking advantage of his small stature, Harry was able to hide behind the calmer Purifier without giving himself away to his temperamental partner. Slowly raising his hands, Harry raised himself up to the Purifiers shoulders and took a deep breath before he finally made his move.

As quickly as possible, Harry threw his left hand over the Purifiers shoulder, grabbing his face and lifting it up, while his right hand lashed forward and tore his dagger straight across the man's throat. Harry only had a second to register the warm blood that splattered across the side of his head and covered his arms and hands before he was quickly tossed over the wounded mans shoulder and hit the stone floor hard, knocking the wind out of him. More blood fell on his face as he tried to focus his blurry eyes on the man above him, desperately clutching at his throat to stem the blood flow.

A small, pathetic squeak came from Harry's lips as the Purifier with the permanent scowl slammed his foot down hard on his chest, leveling his wand straight between his eyes. There was a glint of uncontrolled rage in the angry man's eyes, as he opened his mouth and spat out, "_Avada Ked_..."

Without thinking, Harry quickly raised his blood-soaked dagger and drove it into the back of the Purifiers knee, causing the man to howl in pain and fall sideways. With a grunt, Harry twisted the blade before ripping it out, as the large Purifiers fell on his lower legs, preventing Harry from moving.

The other Purifier collapsed to his knees, gurgling feebly as he choked on his own blood, his eyes wide with pain and desperation. Harry reached out with his left hand and tried to take the man's wand from the hands still clutching at his bleeding neck. Despite his injuries, the Purifier firmly held his wand, refusing to let it go. With a massive tug, Harry was able to rip the wand from the man's blood-slicked hands, but he also pulled the dying Purifier on top of him. The bleeding man then proceeded to wrap his large hands tightly around Harry's neck, choking the teen as he stared hatefully into the boy's eyes.

Harry flailed helplessly, unable to push the heavy man off of him while also being unable to utter a single spell with his new wand. In desperation, Harry began to drive his dagger repeatedly into the dying Purifiers stomach, over and over as his vision began to blur. His hand was suddenly grabbed by the wounded man that had fallen on Harry's legs, preventing him from further stabbing the now weakening man who hovered over him. As the grip around his neck loosened, Harry used the last of his breath to blindly point towards the man who was struggling to get his dagger from him and croaked, "_Reducto_!" Harry felt another warm splash as his lower body was coated in blood and the other man hovering over him fell on his chest and stopped struggling.

For a few minutes, the hallway became completely silent with the exception of Harry's ragged breathing as he desperately tried to get more air into his burning lungs. Harry tried to control the almost violent urge to puke, before with a grunt he used all of his strength to push the two dead Purifiers off of him. Slipping slightly, the blood-soaked boy stood up on unsteady legs, surveying the carnage. It was like a gruesome scene out of a bad slasher film, and as the warm blood of both men began to cool and stick to his skin, Harry couldn't control the sudden fit of chills that suddenly seized his body.

The two dead men at his feet not only looked like they had been murdered, they looked like they had been _butchered_. One was covered with slash and stab wounds, while the other had been blasted in two,with his legs further down thew hall while the torso was resting at Harry's feet. Both men were completely drenched in blood and still wore expressions of pain and horror on their lifeless faces.

Harry couldn't help it – he fell to his knees and violently vomited.

He kept throwing up until there was simply nothing left in his stomach besides bile, and then began to throw that up as well. He clutched his sides as his head hit the floor with a hard thump and struggled to breath through his insistent dry heaves. Without the buzz of adrenalin rushing through his veins Harry was now left with nothing but the cold, hard reality of what he had just done. While it was true that both men were the enemy and were likely going to kill him, Harry himself had initiated the fight and had struck them from behind by surprise. The distinction between killing a killer in pure self-defense, or striking before they could attack you may not have seemed like such a moral dilemma for some, but for someone who so heavily rested on their own moral and ethical code as Harry it was a severe blow. Harry had coldly attacked and murdered two men he didn't know in order to guarantee his own survival, and was likely going to have to do it again before he could finally escape the hellish prison.

Finally mustering control over his own body again, the boy stood back up, sturdier then he was before. Clearing all other thoughts from his mind, Harry quietly muttered, "_Accio_!", and summoned the wand from the second guard he had killed. A quick test of both wands by using the Levitation Charm proved that while the wands would work for him, they were nowhere near as efficient or as powerful as either of the brother wands. Still, at least now Harry possessed a far better way of defending himself then a simple blade.

As he slowly began to move down the hallway, Harry stepped over the two dead guards and refused to look back. He didn't need another look to see what would inevitably be scarred into his memory until his dying moments. He purposely took very slow and deep breaths, calming his rapidly beating heart and clearing the turbulent thoughts from his mind. He could afford to deal with the guilt and shame of what he had done only when and if he escaped the dark fortress.

As Harry walked away, he failed to notice the tears that slowly cut a trail through the blood that heavily stained his cheeks.

* * *

Ehren Töpfer couldn't help the tears that fell from his eyes as he knelt over the mutilated body of his closest friend, Raimund Richter. So far Töpfer had met little resistance as he had ascended through the prisons outer structure. He could only assume that both his allies and enemies believed him to be dead, buried under the massive pile of rubble inside the prisons entryway. He believed that Hitzig's Element had mostly survived, but having seen most of his team slaughtered, and having awoken holding the arm of one of his fallen comrades, Töpfer gave up on the useless task of trying to dig through the pile of rubble that separated him from the others. Töpfer instead tried to stick to his original objective of scouring the prison and killing any of Grindelwald's forces that he happened to find and avenging his fallen teammates – he at least owed them that much for leading them into this death-trap. He also wished to find his friend Raimund and insure his safety, both from the Purifiers as well as the Gegentaktik.

The Lieutenant General's orders to execute anyone and everyone they encountered had continued to puzzle Töpfer; while he was well aware that the man was utterly ruthless and a complete asshole, Töpfer didn't think that Schwarz was also a needless butcher of innocents. While a large chunk of the prisons inmates were Grindelwald supporters, there was also a large chunk of the prison population that were political casualties of war or hapless fools who stumbled onto the wrong secret. Did the 'crime' of knowing too much really warrant death as a punishment? And what about the prison's guards? If any of them had survived, what was their crime? Töpfer knew that the inmate rebellion would be a 'stain' of sorts on the Zauberministerium's record, but how could the German Ministry of Magic simply try to cover the incident up by killing all of the survivors? It was absolutely barbaric.

Töpfer's sense of injustice were quickly silenced when he arrived at the sixth floor of the prisons outer complex. Passing though the prison and seeing the mutilated bodies of the prisons guards and the occasional dead Purifier gave Töpfer some idea of the massive struggle they had fought to maintain order within Nurmengard, and the death count seemed to increase the higher he climbed. Seeing the doorway to one of the prisons many guard stations on the sixth floor blasted off and the station left completely accessible had immediately caught his attention; All of the other stations Töpfer had passed had been put under heavy lock-down and were completely inaccessible without either resetting the prisons wards or a skilled ward breaker to simply blast their way in. It wasn't till he got inside that Töpfer found his deceased friend and discovered the reason for the discrepancy.

What was left of Raimund Richter was an absolute mess – he had a a large, jagged shard of black stone buried deep in his right side and his right arm was completely severed below the elbow. The most gruesome damage though was the large, bloodied hole that had been blown through Raimund's chest and had continued into the ruined control panel that was now covered in blood and gore.

All rational thought left Töpfer's head as he was completely filled with a volatile mixture of rage and pain. His best friend, the one who had suffered and endured countless hardships with him had been brutally killed. Not bothering to stop his tears that streamed down his face, Töpfer bent down over his fallen friend and gently closed Raimund's glassy, unseeing eyes. With his hand still resting over Raimund's face, Töpfer bowed his head and closed his eye's, offering up a final prayer for his fallen friend:

"_Ewige Ruhe-Bewilligung zu ihm, O Herr; und lassen Sie fortwährenden leichten Schein auf ihn. Kann er, sich in Frieden ausruhen. Amen."_

_(Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen.) _

Taking a deep breath, Töpfer slowly stood up and tried to reign in the chaotic emotions that swept through him. It had been drilled into both Töpfer and Raimund's heads early in their Gegentaktik training that unbridled emotions lead to mistakes that could get you and your team killed. His whole body trembled as he struggled to use Occlumency to try and tame the raging whirlwind of emotions that continued to tear though his mind and heart. Slowly all the sadness, pain, and rage were all forced down and locked up in a distant, dark corner of his mind. The emotions were far too raw and powerful for Töpfer to fully suppress, and although controlled for the time being, continued to bubble violently beneath Töpfer's now calm demeanor.

Quickly glancing at the ruined scrying communications panel behind his deceased friend, Töpfer couldn't help the tight, grim smile that formed on his face. Töpfer could see that the scrying stone had been active and in use just before it was destroyed, leading him to believe it was his friend that had sent the emergency call that had led him to this wretched place.

"Even in death, you still stand victorious, my old friend," Töpfer quietly spoke. Raimund had died to send off the garbled distress call that the Gegentaktik forces had intercepted, and it now fell to them to insure his death would not be in vain.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Töpfer turned and left the ruined guard station, stepping over the two dead Purifiers that lay dead and bloodied just outside Raimund's post. Now devoid of distracting emotions and wandering thoughts, Töpfer stalked through the prisons silent halls. He passed the bodies of both Purifiers and prison guards alike without a sideways glance, his mind now reverting back to the intense survival training drilled into the minds of every Gegentaktik soldier: how to survive any danger and come out alive, regardless of the cost. Töpfer could absently feel how all the muscles in his body seemed to slightly tense, almost like a tightly coiled spring ready to go at a moments notice.

Without meeting any resistance, Töpfer was able to navigate the silent halls of Nurmengard without any difficulty and ascend the stairwell to the seventh floor. On this level Töpfer started to notice a change in the bodies that occasionally littered the hallways – some of them now wore filthy rags, leading him to believe they were former prisoners that had been killed trying to escape. If Töpfer didn't have his Occlumency barriers up in order to eliminate ay stray thought, he may have wondered why it was only now he was finding dead prisoners not of Grindelwald's ranks. However, he continued to pass the increasing number of dead with nothing more then a brief notice.

Töpfer was quietly heading towards the stairwell that would lead him to the eighth floor when the silence he had been surrounded by was quickly broken by the rapid scuffling of feet as they hurried down the twisting stairwell towards him. Töpfer quickly raised his wand up through the stairwells entrance just as the man who had been rushing down the stairs turned turned into view. Startling at having found himself at wand point, the ragged prisoner tried to stop but found himself quickly falling forward down the stairs from the rapid pace he had been running at. With a yell of fright, the man proceeded to tumble down the remaining ten stairs of the stairwell, coming to a final painful stop at Töpfer's feet with a rater pathetic sounding whimper.

Groaning, the man tried to sit up using his arms to look at the man who now held him at wand point. Töpfer watched silently as the man's eyes widened when he saw him before letting out a deep sigh of relief, his whole body seeming to relax itself; the prisoner must have recognized Töpfer's forest green uniform, which was worn by all the Gegentaktik forces and he seemed to believe that he would now be under the German Zauberministerium's protection and be safely extracted from the now chaotic prison.

But Töpfer didn't lower his wand.

His heart seemed to beat loudly against his ribcage, like a sombre war drum rhythmically banging just before battle. Faster and faster the beat sounded, causing a buzzing to fill his ears and a light sheen of sweat to cover his body. The word's of Captain Hitzig, his commanding officer, continued to drift through his mind. _"... Kill anything that moves. It's as simple as that,"_ Hitzig had coldly ordered. But Töpfer had argued – he wasn't some heartless killer that would assassinate any poor sod that the state had issued deserved the death penalty without a fair trial. Töpfer didn't join Gegentaktik to become a ruthless assassin for the Ministry, but to help uphold the ideals that he and Raimund had fought their entire lives to help enforce. Raimund, his dead friend...

Like a horrifying picture that now haunted him, Töpfer couldn't fully banish the image of his mutilated friend from his eyes. The blank eye's, once filled with joy, that had stared blankly forward; the grimace of pain that still haunted the cold, frozen face of his friend; the innards that had been sprayed across the guard station Raimund had died to protect...

Raimund's blood was still on his hands, with the repugnant metallic smell of death filling his nostrils. Töpfer's body began to tremble slightly as his vision seemed to tint to a crimson red. Inside his mind, the rage and hatred he had struggled to maintain control of began to swell and struggle to break the bonds that held them in place. A deep, guttural growl began to rumble from Töpfer as he struggled to maintain control of himself. Because of these _fucking_ inmate's decision to rebel his best friend, his brother in everything but blood, was _dead._ All their laughter and tears together, their hardships and struggles together to fight for their beliefs, were now completely dead and gone, brutally blasted to pieces several floors below in a ruined guard post. Raimund had died to help suppress and guard the sniveling, groveling pieces of shit like the one now cowering before him...

The last remnants of logical thought were violently pushed aside as the raw feelings of pain and loss flooded through Töpfer again, quickly followed by endless rage. Raimund was dead..._dead_..._DEAD!_

Confusion covered the fallen inmates face as Töpfer grit his teeth and a expression of absolute agony swept over his features, before being swept away by unrestrained rage. _"AVADA KEDAVERA!"_ Töpfer shreiked, quickly killing the helpless inmate before he could fully realize what was happening. As the dead inmate fell backwards, the now lifeless face barely registering the shock and fear felt by the dead man, Töpfer's rage refused to calm down, flowing through him and screaming at him to lash out and kill anyone who stood in his way. He wanted to make them all suffer for taking away his friend, to make them feel even a fraction of the misery and suffering that now freely flowed through his veins.

As if fighting hidden restraints that had him bound, Töpfer began to slowly step forward, over the body of the fallen inmate and into the stairwell that led upward to the eighth floor. Slowly he began to pick up speed and he ascended the twisted stairwell, and a new sense of conviction began flooding through him. All of the chaotic emotions sweeping around his mind began to synchronize and harden into one focused and clear goal as he stalked into the eighth floor: They would pay. _He would make them all pay_.

* * *

_'Look at all the little ant's scurry about,' _Grindelwald quietly thought to himself as the surviving inmates of Nurmengard who were not a member of his army desperately fled for their lives. People were very similar to ant's in that they all tended to thoughtlessly work together for one common goal, namely the survival of the species. People liked to believe themselves to be unique individuals, but just like everyone else they were all just tiny, indistinguishable ants lost in the larger crowd. The second the queen ant, or ruling power was not there to administer advice to the mindless hoards they foolishly scattered outward, with no real semblance of leadership or purpose. Just like ants, people were also pathetically easy to squash to death – it wasn't even a real challenge for him.

"Such weak, pathetic creatures," Grindelwald mumbled almost mindlessly to himself. He would be better then all of the brainless ants scurrying about, clinging to their short, empty lives. Grindelwald would _never_ fall in line with the rest of the crowd. He would evolve beyond them all. Most of the pieces were already in place. The only thing left was to draw in the remaining pawns that were an important part to his plan.

Currently, two of those pawns were running around his fortress in a sad, hopeless attempt to escape: The British Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and the infamous Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. They had both tried to escape from him when Grindelwald's execution of Nurmengard's political prisoners was cut short by one of the Minister's guards. What the fools failed to realize was that there was no true way of hiding from him within the area that Nurmengard encompassed – Did they really think he didn't have a way of monitoring everything that went on within his territory? Idiots.

Both of the escaped pawns had made a valiant, but ultimately futile attempt to escape and would soon be re-captured: The British Minister would be brought back by one of his own guards who was one of Grindelwald's hidden agents, and four Purifiers had already been sent to where the Potter boy was fighting his soldiers to drag the runt back as well. Once both of them were back under his direct control, Grindelwald could finally begin the next phase of his plan.

Excitement seemed to rush through Grindelwald veins, almost making the terrifying Dark Lord giddy; for the first time in decades, he truly felt _alive_. For better or worse, the world would soon change, and _he_ would change along with it. All of his grand plans would finally come to fruition, and Grindelwald would let _no-one_, least of all some cowardly Minister or a foolish little child stand in his way.


	5. Cross

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and I'm not getting paid anything for writing this, so keep your damn lawyers away. BEGONE!

_**Quick AN:**_ Based on reviews, I was able to go back and make some changes to the German in earlier chapters; it won't make a difference to the rest of the story, but for those who do understand German hopefully this fic will flow better at those points.

**Nurmengard**

_Chapter 5: Cross_

Without any conscious thought, Harry felt his body swerve and maneuver through the dark hallways of Nurmengard, dodging the seemingly endless hail of destructive spell-fire that was being rained down upon him. Harry had managed to successfully sneak through the eleventh floor without running into any more Purifiers, but shortly after descending to the tenth floor found himself besieged from several directions by opponents he couldn't see. Without having any time to think, he was forced to rely on instinct and reflexes honed through both Quidditch and battle to stay alive after he had managed to unconsciously dodge the first hex sent his way. Harry continued to weave and swerve through the constant spell-fire, seemingly lost in a mad dance as he struggled to out-maneuver both the spells being sent his way and the chunks of debris that were being blown from the floors and walls from failed attacks.

'_Fight back',_ a corner of Harry's mind screamed at him as he struggled to keep his balance while dodging, '_FIGHT BACK!' "Protego!" _Harry yelled out seconds before a sickly yellow beam bounced off his shield and flew back towards the area it was cast from. Quickly noting where the spell was reflected, Harry fired a Reductor Curse to hopefully finish off at least one of his attackers, but both spells simply blasted into the wall, showering a small area in dust and debris.

Harry felt like swearing loudly, but restrained himself as it wouldn't help the situation. _'How the hell am I supposed to defend against what I can't see?'_ he thought desperately. With a sudden jolt of inspiration, Harry dodged a rather vivid pink jet of light and raised his wand, yelling, _"Accio Invisibility Cloak!" _- the only response Harry got was another round of destructive spells that he had to quickly evade.

"_Shit"_, Harry cursed quietly to himself, frustrated with the situation. Regardless of what several members of Slytherin House thought of him, Harry was no fool; he could easily tell that his opponents weren't taking the fight seriously, otherwise he would be dead already. Harry would even go so far as to believe that the sick jerks were actually _playing_ with him, trying to amuse themselves with his struggles and laughing at him as he danced around their spells like a puppet on strings. Harry was forcefully reminded of an old western cartoon he had seen as a child in one of the department stores he was dragged to while his Aunt Petunia was shopping for her 'Ickle Diddykins'; in the show the big, bad western wolf was shooting at the ground around the hero and laughing hysterically while he taunted, _"Dance, monkey, dance!"_

_'Bastards',_ Harry thought angrily, _'Lets see how you like it!'_ Casting his wand in a wide arc, Harry peppered a wide area of the hallway with low-powered, but quick Reductor Curses hoping to get lucky and hit someone. Small bits of the floor were blasted away and a low cloud of dust was kicked up, but not a single spell hit any of his opponents. Harry was about to give a cry of frustration when he noticed a slight movement within the the cloud of dust that hovered just above the ground. "_Diffindo!"_ Harry quietly hissed, aiming for the slight distortion he had seen within the dust – the distortion quickly moved as the Severing Charm flew towards it, but Harry could hear a quiet hiss as the charm managed to nick his opponent.

Harry's slight victory was short lived as four voices simultaneously cried, _"STUPEFY!"_, forcing him to quickly duck and roll to the side to avoid the combined spell-fire. The four stunners quickly collided at the point he had just evaded and met with a large blast of crimson light before ricocheting off in different directions. Coming to a stop on his back, Harry used the confusion to aim his wand at the ceiling and scream, _"Reducto, Reducto, Reducto!"_, repeatedly blasting the ceiling with the Reductor Curse and showering the hallway in dust and debris. With another roll Harry was laying flat on his stomach and quickly locked on to his target: the slight patch of blood that seemed to hover in the air from his earlier Severing Charm. Quickly taking aim, Harry cried, _"Bombarda!"_, and watched as the white bolt of light quickly pierced through the dust that filled the hallway before impacting with it's target, sending out a massive spray of innards that coated the wall as a gory lump of shredded flesh fell to the ground, quickly leaking blood over the floor.

Several cries of rage echoed through the hallway as a massive gust of endless wind swept through the narrow passage, taking all the accumulated dust with it and making Harry blind to his opponents once again. Quickly jumping to his feet, Harry was forced to dodge another wave of spell-fire that quickly began to tear-up the hallway. As Harry was knocked back by a powerful violet spell that nearly crushed his shield, he absently noted that they seemed to now be taking him a lot more seriously. He felt his breath violently leave his lungs as he was slammed into the wall, and the high winds that kept sweeping through the hallway made it difficult for him to breath. Struggling to think of a spell to take advantage of the wind, Harry thought of one of Hermione's oldest spells. With a sharp snap of his wrist, Harry quickly conjured a line of Bluebell Flames straight across the hallway, which were quickly caught by the high winds and spread across the floor.

One of the most interesting things about Bluebell Flames is that they are purely magical fire, existing without fuel and therefore cannot be snuffed out by any normal means. They also will not burn anything beneath them, allowing a person to actually hold the flame in the palm of their hand if they do so carefully. However, anything above the flame will be burned just like regular fire, such as a unsuspecting Purifier. Harry watched in wonder as the flames tore through the hallway away from him, lighting everything in a eerie blue glow and leaving the floor completely unaffected. The two Purifiers who happened to be in the flames path, however, were quickly engulfed in blue flames, making them look like fiery wraiths. Both men began to shriek and curse in pain as they did everything they could to extinguish the flames, from trying to unsuccessfully pat them down to attempting to dowse them in water. Focusing on one of the two Purifiers in front of him, Harry yelled _"Bombarda!"_, quickly felling the man in a blast of gore before his body was completely engulfed in sapphire flames.

Before Harry could take down the other struggling Purifier a voice behind him roared, _"__Finite Incantatem!"_, causing all of his conjured Bluebell Flames to simply vanish from the hallway and silencing the turbulent winds. There was, however, one unexpected outcome from the Purifier's spell – the badly burnt Purifier in front of Harry slowly started to become visible, baring his charred skin and burnt hair to the world. The man's head slowly started to come into view, as if the spell itself were running off his body like a form of liquid. With a painful grunt, the Purifier quickly tapped his wand to his head and hissed, _"Refectorium Misceo!"_, causing the oddly liquid disguise spell to spread back over him, making the man blend into the background again like a chameleon.

Now knowing it was just a charm hiding his opponents, Harry quickly pointed his wand at where the Purifier had just been and started to shout, _"Finite Incan..."_, before having to abruptly end his spell to dodge the renewed spell-fire from behind him. Left, right, duck, roll, block...Harry was in constant motion trying to evade the renewed attacks from the Purifiers. _'The bastards wont give me enough time to breathe, let alone enough time to cancel their charms...'_ Harry thought angrily. If they kept him solely on the defensive, Harry knew he would eventually tire and they would have him; He desperately needed a plan, and quickly. His eyes did a quick sweep of the ruined hallway, looking for anything that would give him the advantage – rock shards, small craters, dust, mangled bodies, blood...

Harry's eyes quickly focused in on the blood surrounding the first Purifier he had killed, and saw what looked like a footprint in the blood, or was it the actual foot? Quickly diving to avoid two different spells, Harry pointed his wand at the blood and hissed, _"Glacius!"_ sending a jet of frigid air at the blood on the floor and flash freezing it to ice. Harry could hear a grunt and the tinkling of cracked ice, signaling that the man was still standing in his partners now frozen blood and stuck in place. Taking advantage of the distraction, Harry quickly followed his first spell with, _"Diffindo!"_, aiming just above where the footprint still remained in the blood. There was a shriek of pain as the Purifier had both of his legs severed at the ankles, causing his body to fall forwards with a dull thud. Pointing his wand at where he thought the fallen man would be Harry shouted, _"Confringo!"_, causing the man to explode outward in a gory crimson shower, once again coating Harry as well as half the hallway in wet blood.

Despite the warm blood that had once again covered his body, Harry felt a deep chill in the depths of his soul at having so coldly and brutally taken another life. _'Merlin...Am I turning into a monster?'_, he thought desperately to himself, scared of what he seemed to be becoming. How many more people would have to die a gruesome death before this was all over? How many of those would he kill himself? Before Harry could be swallowed up by his rising tide of self-doubt and loathing, he was snapped from his inner turmoil by a cry of rage from just behind him.

The last remaining Purifier was still under the effects of the same 'chameleon' type spell that his comrades had used, but due to him being covered in the blood of one of his fallen allies, presented an odd image of being there, but not being there. Blood covered several sections of the mans body in such a way that it almost seemed as if a crimson cloak was floating through the hall under the guise of being human. Screaming in blind fury, the Purifier began to hurl spells at Harry at a rapid pace, the man's wand moving seamlessly from one spell to the next despite his overwhelming anger.

Despite his best efforts, Harry couldn't fully dodge the incoming wave of spell-fire. A bloody gash was opened along his left arm shortly followed by another on his right leg. Hissing in pain, Harry couldn't fully dodge the bolt of purple lightning that his his right shoulder, sending a blast of electricity searing through his body. With a painful shriek, Harry collapsed to the ground, his body twitching uncontrollably. Unfortunately, the enraged Purifier had no intention of halting his attack and quickly screamed, _"Crucio!"_, hitting the downed boy with the Torture Curse as payback for killing his comrades.

Harry's tortured screams echoed through the empty hallways as the lone Purifier poured all his hatred and malice into the spell, inflicting maximum pain. Every nerve in Harry's body was lit up in pure agony as he thrashed wildly on the floor, screaming himself hoarse. After what seemed like eons the spell was finally lifted, leaving the bloodied child twitching in pain while the Purifier chuckled dryly, seeming to enjoy Harry's misery. Trying to relax the iron grip he had on his wand, Harry shakily aimed it at his tormentor, trying to turn the tables on the situation. Before Harry could even open his mouth a red bolt of light flashed towards him, knocking his wand from his hand and launching him backwards into the corridors stone wall, knocking the wind out of him. With a grow, the enraged Purifier once again used the Torture Curse on Harry, forcing his screams to echo again through the desolate hallways.

After finally lifting the curse, the Purifier began to slowly walk forward, taking measured steps as he approached the twitching child. "Little _bastard_! You dare to raise a wand against me?", the Purifier snarled, before once again applying the Cruciatus Curse and then quickly lifting it again. With every step closer the Purifier began to alternate between hitting Harry with the Torture Curse, and then canceling it, leaving him just enough time to dread the incoming wash of pain. "You murder my comrades," he hissed, briefly applying the Cruciatus again, "stand against me," he snarled, cursing Harry again, "and dare to defy the _Dark Lord_!" he finally roared before cursing the boy a final time.

When Harry had finally regained his wits after the spell was canceled he could see the Purifier was now standing just above him, looking at him with a manic gleam in his eyes and his wand leveled at his face. "You are _nothing_, child," the enraged Purifier growled quietly, "if it were not for my master's order's, you would have been dead before you even knew you were being attacked. We underestimated you, boy, but we will not be repeating that mistake again. Did you truly believe you could stand alone against us? You pathetic little _küchenschabe_," the Purifier hissed angrily.

While the Purifier ranted above him, Harry used the opportunity to catch his breath and slowly edge his hand closer to the dagger sheathed on his belt. Just as his fingers grasped the hilt, Harry heard the Purifier start to shout,_ "Cruci..." _As quickly as he could, Harry drove the blade into the Purifiers right ankle, causing the man to howl in pain and his spell to sail over Harry's head and splash harmlessly against the wall. Quickly raising himself to his knees, Harry made a made a desperate grab for the Purifier's wand, but found his wrist wrapped in an iron grip. Pulling Harry forward, the man delivered a powerful blow to his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. A quick left jab to Harry's cheek was followed by a vicious uppercut, sending him falling backwards down the hallway from the force of the blows.

Harry fell to the ground with a painful crash, knocking the back of his head on the hard stone floor. Despite lying painfully on his back, Harry's world continued to spin wildly around him. His right hand held his throbbing cheek while his left arm was held over his aching stomach, desperately trying to regain his breath. Through his spinning vision and the stars that streaked across his vision, Harry could see the Purifier had fallen to one knee and was trying to remove the dagger from his ankle without causing himself any further injury. Trying to focus himself, Harry could feel the hard wood of the bloodied wand he had hidden up his left sleeve earlier in case he was ever disarmed by one of Grindelwald's soldiers. Struggling for air, Harry reached inside his left sleeve with his right hand and grasped the wand just as he heard a pained grunt from his opponent, signaling that the Purifier had finally removed the dagger from his ankle.

Raising his trembling arm, Harry croaked, _"Bombarda!"_ The Purifier quickly used his left leg to propel himself out of the curse's path, swinging his wand and sending out a wave of neon light that Harry was barely able to roll away from. _"Diffindo!"_ Harry quickly called out, desperately trying to end the battle. The Purifier tried to dodge to the right, but he put weight on his bad right ankle and stumbled right into Harry's Severing Charm, causing the spell to slice clean through the man's left arm and tear a deep gouge into the wall. With a pained cry of rage, the falling man sent a crimson wave of energy at Harry that tore a deep grove through the ground as it drove towards him. Quickly rolling to his left, Harry could feel the raw power of the spell as it grazed closely by him, standing his hairs on end and causing his skin to tingle.

Raising his wand as his side-roll was ending, Harry quickly cast another Severing Charm just as the Purifier did, causing the two spells to smash together in the air, emitting and ear splitting crash at the two spells seemed to shatter against each other. Fragments of the broken spells flew in all directions, cutting into anything in their path. Amid the lethal glowing spell shards, Harry kept his wand focused on his fallen opponent, who was now hiding behind a magical shield. _"Diffindo!"_, Harry hissed again, watching his spell splash against the Purifiers shield along with the tinkling shards of their earlier broken spells. _"Diffindo, Diffindo, Diffindo!"_, Harry quickly chanted, keeping a steady stream of spells concentrated on the man's shield until, like the popping of a bubble, the shield finally broke and Harry's spells got through. With a wet gurgle, Harry saw the bloodied silhouette of the Purifier separate just under the ribs as his charm made contact and caused the man to fall backwards onto the floor, laying still.

Unable to stop his trembling, Harry struggled to catch his breath despite the pain it caused him. The stinging that seemed to cover his body made him realize that he was covered in various nicks and gashes, all inflicted from shards of his broken Severing Charm. He was also achingly aware of the constant throbbing in his cheek and stomach, which both seemed to pulse painfully to the rapid beating of his heart. With the fighting now over for the time being, Harry's mind began to quickly evaluate everything that had just happened. He was well aware that it was only instincts, reflexes, and luck that had allowed him to live, and that he was hopelessly outmatched compared to the Purifiers. Honestly, what hope could a fourteen year-old wizard hope to have when standing against a small army of highly trained killers and assassins? The Purifiers, especially that last man, had all gone down fighting desperately for their lives to their last breath, just as Harry would have done himself. His own desperate determination had overcome the others this time, but Harry knew desperation and instincts wouldn't be enough to survive. Harry's only chance of survival would be to avoid any more conflicts if at all possible.

Harry's mind had also latched on to something the Purifier had let slip to him in his anger at the boy. The man had mentioned that Grindelwald had not wanted Harry to be killed, at least at that time, which confused the boy. What possible use could Harry be to Gindelwald, a notorious Dark Lord? The thought left Harry with a queasy feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the quickly forming bruise on his abdomen.

Either way, Harry's only option at that point was to keep going forward. Nothing lay for him at the top of the tower and if he didn't escape the prison soon he would end up dead or worse. Steeling his resolve, Harry shakily stood and walked past the bodies of his newest victims, searching for the stairwell to the ninth floor and his path to freedom.

* * *

Take deep breaths - In and out, in and out, in and out...dammit, why wasn't it working? As he was quickly pushed through the dark hallways of Numengard's high security wing, the British Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge was rapidly trying to fight his oncoming panic attack; Fudge had always had difficulty dealing with the unexpected, and the current situation was ridiculously far outside his normal comfort zone. Of the four Aurors he had come to Nurmengard with, only three remained: John Dawlish, Jason Proudfoot, and Aden Savage. Edward Williamson had used his hidden wand to create a distraction which enabled the others to escape, but Williamson had been killed by Grindelwald before he could get away. Since they had fled during the confusion of Williamson's attack, they had been constantly moving, trying to find a way to escape through the twisting pathways of the dark fortress.

Fudge was barely aware that they had descended through the fortress to around the sixth level, but despite their familiarity with the prison's layout they were continuously hindered by still being trapped within the high security containment wing, in the middle of the prison complex. The wand he had stolen form a dead Purifier earlier was gripped tightly in his right hand while his left clutched at his chest, trying in vain to soothe the tight, constricted feeling that signaled the oncoming panic attack. Fudge kept his eye's fixed constantly forward, trying to focus only on where his guard's were leading him and not on the splotches of blood that peppered his cloak or the dried vomit the coated his expensive shoes from earlier.

Fudge was so focused on trying not to panic that he barely registered the vivid purple spell that quickly flew past his head and tore through Dawlish's neck, causing a fount of blood to spurt forth and sprinkle is face. Before Dawlish's headless corpse could even finish falling, Proudfoot had quickly spun around, his wand raised, and in a glacial tone growled, _"Savage?" _A condescending grunt was his only response as he quickly raised a silver shield to stop another purple blade that had been sent towards him.

Stunned by what was happening, Fudge didn't even react as Savage had violently grabbed him by the neck and began using him as a human shield, causing him to start choking. "Come now, Jason, no need to get so cold with me," Savage taunted Proudfoot. "Surely someone as _logical_ as you could understand my master's ambitions? Little worm's like _this_," Savage hissed, tightening his hold on Fudge's throat, "have done nothing but mire our society in some sort of twisted Victorian knock-off so they could continue to rule over us, while the muggles and the rest of the world continues to march onward past us. We're being held back by these prissy little bureaucrats and their own pathetic self-interests when we could all be _so much more_. Surely you can see that Grindelwald want's to bring the world forward into a new era for wizarding kind, and it's the duty of the enlightened few to make that happen. A seeker of knowledge such as yourself can understand where I'm coming from, and I know you're just as fed up with the state of the world as I am. Lower your wand and join our cause, Jason. There's no need to follow this corrupt system anymore; We can finally set the world right!"

Proudfoot's wand never wavered as he coldly stared his former colleague in the eye's. Fudge felt a horrid chill spread through his body as, while his mind knew that Savage had betrayed them and was now an enemy, the way Proudfoot coldly held his wand made it seem as if his lethal intentions were focused on him, and it made something deep inside Fudge shudder. "While I agree that the current system need's to change," Proudfoot quietly replied, his voice a chilling whisper, "I don't believe that following the ideals of a lunatic is the proper way to do it. And you, Aden, are a fool for going along with him."

Anger and indignation seemed to build in Savage at Proudfoot's reply, causing him to tighten his hold on the Minister again, further restricting Fudge's air supply and making him start to turn blue. "It seems that we have come to an impasse Jason," Savage spat, "A pity, considering I believed you would be one of the few who had enough common sense to choose the winning side."

The lack of oxygen and terror that flowed through Fudge began to make his vision swim and narrow, focusing only on the man before him. Fear began to overwhelm his common sense as Fudge's panic attack started to take control of him, making everything seem like a threat to him, even his last loyal guard. Proudfoot now seemed to terrify Fudge, from his clam, almost indifferent attitude towards the dangerous situation they were in to the haunting emptiness behind his dark, chilling eyes. "I have chosen the winning side," Proudfoot calmly replied with a cold, grim smile, "you're just too much of a fool to see it."

The odd tension building between the two men was broken when Fudge made a pathetic gurgle, desperately trying to get some much needed air into his lungs. Savage switched his attention to Fudge for just a second, which was all that Proudfoot needed as he sent a Blasting Charm at the floor under Savage's feet, causing him to stumble as the floor exploded around him and let go of the Minister.

As Proudfoot and Savage began dueling for their lives, Fudge began to quickly back away on his wobbling knees from their rapid spell-fire, his eye's glued to the deadly fight before him. Fudge's mind was screaming at him, _'RUN! ECSAPE! GO NOW!'_, but in his haste to flee he tripped up and fell backwards over the headless corpse of John Dawlish. With a terrified squeak, Fudge began crawling backwards in a blind panic, slipping on the blood-soaked floor, before his hand touched something warm and hairy. Looking slowly behind him, Fudge saw his hand was now on Dawlish's severed head, the dead man's face seeming to hold a brief flicker of shock frozen on it, while the eye's stared blankly forward, cold and lifeless.

It was all to much for Fudge. As he quickly felt himself being lost to his blind terror, the constriction on his chest grew heavier, and he started having trouble breathing. Raising his arms up to shield his face, Fudge curled into a ball on the bloody floor, shutting his eye's and trying desperately to tone out the carnage that was all around him. Behind his eyelids, he could see the dazzling lights of spell-fire, and hear the desperate cries of the two men as they continued to fight for their lives. Sweat seemed to completely cover his trembling form, leaving him chilled despite the rapid pulse of blood through his veins. As the fighting continued, time seemed to slow down for Fudge, and he started to almost feel as if he was disconnected from himself and everything that was happening around him. As the smothering feeling increased a loud, piercing scream of pure terror seemed to echo throughout the hall, drowning out the sounds of combat. A part of Fudge idly wondered who the poor soul was that was letting out such horrid screams as they reached a crescendo, increasing in intensity till they finally came to an ear piercing level of volume as Fudge felt himself being splashed with warm liquid.

When Fudge finally felt someone start to poke him, he initially tried to shy away from the contact, but as the screaming slowly began to fade, he could make out the cold voice of Proudfoot calling out to him. "_Minister!_ Please calm down Minister Fudge. Savage can't hurt you anymore", Proudfoot spoke in a steady even tone that seemed completely out of place for the situation.

Finally opening his eyes, Fudge looked through the drops of fresh blood that steadily dropped from his soaked brow. "J-Jason? W-what happened to Savage? What...", Fudge trailed off, his raw throat aching as he finally noticed the blood that had soaked him.

"Don't worry Minister, you were unharmed", Proudfoot calmly sated, his empty eye's locked onto Fudge's. The Minister quickly turned his head and looked behind him, where next to Dawlish's body now lay Savage, dead with a massive diagonal tear that nearly severed his torso in two and had sprayed the hallway in blood.

When Fudge turned back to Proudfoot, he saw the man's hand in front of his face, offering to help him up. Despite the warm gesture, Fudge couldn't help but look past the welcoming hand to the stony face behind it, and the cold, empty eye's of Proudfoot. He almost felt like helpless pray before the predator, only being spared at the whim of Proudfoot who could easily kill him with little effort. Struggling to regain control of his rapid breathing, Fudge decided to try and tone out blind fear that was making his instincts scream at him. Reaching out a trembling hand, Fudge let Proudfoot help him up, where the Auror promptly cast a quick Scouring Charm to clean the blood off the Minister.

"We need to get moving, Minister. The commotion will likely draw more of the Purifier's towards this area", Proudfoot calmly stated, as he turned and started back down the hallway, not even waiting for Fudge.

Trying to steady both his legs and his heartbeat, Fudge reluctantly began to follow his only remaining ally left within Nurmengard down the prison's dark corridors. He still felt a great sense of unease about being near Proudfoot, but besides being cold and aloof the man had done nothing wrong. Fudge had to accept the fact that he simply wasn't able to handle being placed in potentially fatal situations very well. As long as he let his own fear guide him, he would likely freeze up again the next time his life was threatened and once again start to have doubts about everything and everyone around him, regardless of if they were friend or foe.

The wand Fudge had taken from a dead Purifier earlier was still clenched uselessly in his right hand, just as it had been for the entire duration of the fight. Despite having a wand to defend himself with, Fudge hadn't even had the common sense to cast a simple shield to help protect himself from any of the offensive spells that were being thrown around. For a wizard who still possessed a wand to simply curl up and refuse to defend himself against a enemy was absolutely ridiculous and shameful.

While his right hand tightened around his stolen wand, his left hand came up and clasped at the mokeskin pouch hidden beneath his cloak. Fudge had made sure to bring it with him wherever he went, and had added an extra item inside it especially for his trip to Nurmengard. When his group had first been captured, the Minister had thought of using it as a 'ace in the hole' as the muggles called it if he was ever disarmed or trapped; But if Fudge couldn't even think clearly enough to fight back with a wand in his hand, then what good would his hidden weapon ever be?

* * *

An eerie silence seemed to encompass the ninth floor of Nurmengard's outer wing. Despite the gruesome bodies of slain guards littered about that spoke of a fierce battle, the stillness of everything almost gave the illusion of peacefulness. However, in one tiny corner of the level you could hear the faint, desperate whispers of one of the prisons current escapees.

"_Refet-_or_-ium Mis-_ce_-o!..._Re_-fectorium Mis-_ceo_!...Re-_fector_-ium _Mis_-ceo!...dammit!"_, Harry quietly swore. Since his last battle, Harry had become determined to learn the stealth spell that the Purifiers had used against him. As the situation currently stood, Harry painfully stood out amongst the deserted corridors of Nurmengard, and any passing Purifier would easily be able to spot him and attack. If he could learn the spell to make him blend into the background like a chameleon he would considerably increase his chances of survival, seeing how used he was to sneaking around with his invisibility cloak. But the damned spell wasn't _working_!

Harry was able to remember seeing the Purifier use the spell, despite being in the middle of such a desperate struggle, and could clearly see that the only movements the man had made was to tap himself on the head with his wand. If he wasn't getting the wand movements wrong, then his mistake had to have been in the spells pronunciation. It was like first year charms class all over again...Win-_gar_-dium Levi-_o_-sa!...urgh.

Tapping himself with his wand again, Harry whispered, _"Re-_fect_-orium Misce-_o_!...bugger!" _The last time Harry could remember having this much trouble with a spell was when he was learning the Summoning Charm during that thrice-blasted Tri-Wizard Tournament; Why the hell should it matter if you emphasized the 'o' or the 'e'? Harry had seen people cast silently all the time, without saying a damn thing. Having your pronunciation count when spell-casting was absolutely stupid.

As he rubbed the sore spot on his head from repeatedly tapping himself, Harry tried vainly to remember how the Purifier had pronounced the spell. To be blunt, Harry was actually surprised he remembered the words at all...or did he? Was it really _Refectorium Misceo_ or _Refractorium Masceo_? Perhaps even some sillier sounding phase?

"_...Refract-_orium_ Mas-_ceo_!"_...nothing.

Gritting his teeth, Harry tried to restrain himself from swearing loudly and alerting any nearby Purifiers to his presence. Stealth spells wouldn't do any good if the Purifiers knew you were there. He instead took a deep breath to calm himself and focused on the slight bit of luck before him – Harry had found the stairwell leading down to the eighth floor.

As he cautiously approached the stairwell Harry couldn't detect anyone nearby, so he proceeded to make his way down the dark, twisting stairway as quietly as possible. Traveling down the bizarrely twisting stairs seemed to always be slightly disorienting, but when he finally saw the opening to the eighth floor below, Harry quickly focused his senses on the opening. Once again he couldn't see or hear anyone near the opening, so he cautiously descended the final stairs and exited the stairwell...only to find himself being held at wand point. _Shit._

The man facing him was unlike the other Purifiers he had met previously; He was tall and lean, with messy dark-brown hair and vibrant blue eye's. The uniform the man wore was completely different from the standard Purifier attire, being a dark forest green with black trimmings. He had a solid stance and carried himself upright with a sense of purpose. But it was the cold fury in his blue eye's that had caught Harry's attention the most; it was almost like the man was blaming him for something horrible that had happened.

Neither Harry nor the man moved from where they were, both frozen like statues in the quiet corridors of the prison. The man's wand never wavered from his aim at Harry's heart, while his own stolen wand was still resting at his side. The odd, quiet stand-off between the two seemed to stretch on as both stared into each others eye's, till the eerie silence was finally broken by the harsh words of a spell:

"_Avada Kedavra!"_


	6. Collide

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and I'm not getting paid anything for writing this, so keep your damn lawyers away. BEGONE!

**Nurmengard**

_Chapter 6: Collide_

_Dum...Dum...Dum...Dum...Dum..._

He could feel it with every step he made; every breath he took seemed to sustain it. The steady beat of his heart thumped loudly in his chest, hammering like an ancient war drum, beating to a calm, foreboding rhythm before the furious storm that he knew would soon be approaching. He could even feel the rush of blood through his veins, bringing with it the quiet, seething rage from deep within his core; Despite his Gegentaktik training to help center himself and control his emotions, his amplified sense of self-awareness only allowed the steely need for vengeance to solidify within him.

As Sergeant Ehren Töpfer quietly strode through the eighth level of Nurmengard Prison his rage over the death of his friend, Raimund Richter, continued to wage war with the bleeding-heart conscience within him. Since he had killed his first inmate on the seventh floor, Töpfer had found and executed three others as they sought to make their escape from Nurmengard. Each time he had come across another inmate, his conscience was quickly smothered by the raw waves of anger and grief over Richter's death to help protect those worthless little assholes. Unfortunately, every time he had killed another inmate, not only did his rage and despair not ease-up at all, but he always seemed to feel even worse afterword. Töpfer kept trying to reason with himself that he shouldn't feel guilty over killing the prisoners because he was just following orders like any other good soldier would...right?

The main problem for Töpfer was that so far he had not come across a single Purifier since his battle at the entrance despite them having seemingly taken complete control over the entire prison. Where the hell were they? There weren't any dead Purifier's around to signal severe heavy losses from either their initial takeover of the prison or from Hitzig's Element eliminating them; That left the only other solution being that Grindelwald had launched his takeover with only a skeleton crew, but he wouldn't be foolish enough to pull a stupid stunt like that, would he?

Just ahead Töpfer could see another stairwell leading upwards towards the ninth level and quietly began to approach. He had his wand pointed at the stairwell, prepared for any surprises that may pop out of it; Töpfer's former commander had always lectured on enemies using the terrain to their advantage, and hiding behind sharp turns or dark passages, just waiting for foolish prey to wander into their trap. _'Just because you can't see the enemy, doesn't mean they aren't there,' _Töpfer thought, the word's of his old instructors echoing through his mind. He had already ignored that lesson once earlier, and if it had been a stealthy Purifier who had been coming out of the stairwell to the eighth floor instead of a panicked inmate, it would have been his corpse lying one level below instead of the prisoners.

Despite remembering his old instructors advice, Töpfer still found himself shocked when someone actually did creep silently from out of the dark stairwell; However, his shock may have had more to do with the persons actual appearance then their seemingly bad sense of timing.

The _thing_ in front of him couldn't possibly be human, could it? Physically it seemed like a young boy, short and thin, between 10-13 years-old; However everything else about it seemed otherworldly, as if it was a poltergeist or daemon. From head-to-toe the creature was completely covered in blood, as if it had been bathed in it, and the clothing it wore was primarily black and red, blending in with the rest of it's crimson appearance. It's wild, black hair stuck up in all directions due to the thick blood matted in it, and the stony expression on it's face made it seem all the more dangerous, as if anything that dared to hinder it's path would be quickly eliminated. Even the way it moved seemed to enhance the eerie quality of the bloody specter, it's deathly silent footsteps and oddly fluid movements reminding Töpfer of wild panthers as they quietly stalked their prey.

Yet despite all these disturbing quality's, nothing seemed to send a chill down Töpfer's spine like the creature's eye's did: A bright vivid green, the exact same shade as the Killing Curse. It's disturbingly bright eye's cast a stark contrast with it's bloodied exterior, making them seem even more intense by comparison. Those intense green eye's seemed to glow, filled with repressed emotion...was it remorse? Determination? Or perhaps something even darker? Despite being as unsure as he was of the thing's true motives, Töpfer could definitely say that the eerie creature before him made his skin crawl.

It was only through his harsh Gegentaktik training in dealing with the unknown that allowed Töpfer to keep his wand steady and level as the creature first took notice of him. The cool, unreadable stare the creature gave him sent chills down his spine, making him feel as if he was being stared _into_ and judged by the thing before him. Töpfer tightened his grip on his wand subconsciously as he bore the full brunt of the creature attention focused on him, his pride refusing to back down from the thing in front of him.

But nothing happened. The two continued to stare each other down from opposite end's of the hallway, with nothing but the silence to bear witness. It was in the crushing stillness that Töpfer began to hear it again...

_Dum...Dum...Dum...Dum...Dum..._

Töpfer's rage, momentarily silenced by his shock, was slowly returning, filling up the silence within his mind with it's insistent, unrelenting beat. The sight of his mutilated friend flashed before him, Raimund's crimson corpse slowly merging colors with the bloodied being before him.

_Ba-dum...Ba-dum...Ba-dum...Ba-dum...Ba-dum..._

Louder and louder, the beating of his heart traveled through him, reverberating with the waves of grief and rage that swelled within him. His friend, dead...killed trying to keep the inmates from escaping...to keep the monsters locked away...

_Ba-dum Dum...Ba-dum Dum...Ba-dum Dum...Ba-dum Dum..._

Louder still, the pulse flowed trough him, the twisted beat hammering inside him like a war drum, shaking him to his core. The beating of his heart and the pulse of his rage seemed to fuse together, feeding and amplifying each other till Töpfer began to feel himself start to get swallowed up by his own hatred and grief again. Why did Raimund have to die to keep such pathetic examples of humanity locked away? Monster's in human flesh...

_Ba-da! Ba-da! Ba-da! Ba-da! Ba-da!..._

Monsters like the one before him...

_BA-DA! BA-DA! BA-DA! BA-DA! BA-DA!..._

"_Avada Kedavra!_", Töpfer shrieked, aiming straight for the haunting green eye's that silently dared to judge him.

With an amazing speed that seemed shocking for someone so young looking, the crimson specter swiftly rolled to the side and sent an angled Severing Charm towards Töpfer, who himself quickly jumped to his right. Despite his own impressive speed, Töpfer fond himself pelted by debris from the floor as the angled Severing Charm seemed to only partially dig into the floor, skimming the surface and sending up a wave of rock that battered against him and obstructed his vision.

With a frustrated cry, Töpfer gave his wand a wide, horizontal swish, sending out a pulse of fierce wind that flashed outward in a wave, scattering the airborne debris before him. Leaping over the Severing Charm as it continued to grind into the floor, Töpfer twisted his wand in an intricate pattern that formed several lances of neon-colored light that pierced through the air, zooming straight for his opponent.

With an unnatural feline grace, the crimson creature swerved between the lethal lances, successfully dodging them all except for the last. As the final neon lance zoomed towards it, the creature raised a powerful Shield Charm, causing the last lance to skid along the boundary of the shield and in a shower of magical sparks go sailing into the wall.

With a quick twirl of it's wrist and a quiet hiss, the creature sent several quick Reductor Curses soaring towards him, moving in unison almost as if they were stringed together. Töpfer gracefully dodged the chain of spells, weaving between the deadly attacks as he advanced towards his opponent. Despite it's bloodied appearance the creatures attacks were rather basic in terms of complexity, about the same level as a schoolchild. But this thing couldn't actually be a kid, could it?

With a snarl, the creature quickly sent two overpowered Severing Charms towards Töpfer. The Gegentaktik soldier could easily see his opponents strategy: Have the first spell blocked while the second tears through the opponents defenses and then the opponent himself. Once again, despite the rage that seethed inside him, Töpfer could easily read the rather weak strategy that his opponent had. With a quick swish, Töpfer created a massive silver shield, before both spells simply splashed off it's surface, not even leaving a scratch.

With a quick jab, a bolt of purple lightning shot from Töpfer's wand before breaking into several smaller bolts that rained down on his opponent. The crimson creature was able to dodge the first two bolts before he was quickly forced to hunker down behind a powerful, but basic Shield Charm. _'Pitiful'_, Töpfer thought to himself, before he gave in the call of rage in his veins, demanding a swift and brutal end to the fight. Aiming for the bloody specter as it hid behind it's basic shield, Töpfer again yelled, _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Quickly deactivating it's shield, the creature rolled to it's right to dodge the lethal spell, coming to a stop with it's wand aimed straight at Töpfer. For a brief moment their eye's once again met, but now Töpfer could only see a quiet determination and an iron will hidden behind those haunting green orbs. As a chill once again made it's way down his spine, Töpfer made one of the biggest mistakes a person could make during a duel – he hesitated.

"_Bombarda! Diffindo!"_, the creature hissed, quickly sending out a powerful white lance of light that was quickly followed by the quicker crimson Severing Charm. The speed difference from the spells allowed them to collide in mid-air and as the weaker Severing Charm hit the stronger Bombarda, it was overpowered and imploded before the compressed magic exploded outward. The rapid explosion of the destroyed spell caused the Bombarda Spell to be forcefully ripped apart, sending weaker, but still lethal shards of the spell to hurdle towards Töpfer far quicker then the spell would normally move. Seeing the lethal white hail descend upon him, Töpfer quickly summoned his shield back to protect him from the destructive downpour. Small craters were quickly formed around him as the spell shards finally descended down on him, and Töpfer had to concentrate to maintain his magical shield as it buckled from the beating it was taking.

Steadying his foothold, Töpfer let out a shocked gasp as he found himself and his surroundings drenched in frigid cold water. Confused by his opponents change in tactics he barely had time to think before the creature hissed, _"Glacius!"_, causing a frigid wind to sweep around him and flash-freeze the water he had been doused in. Struggling with his frozen clothing, Töpfer's world was suddenly flipped upside-down as the creature quickly yelled, _"Accio!"_, causing him to be flipped over as his legs were partially summoned by the enemy and were quickly swept from under him, slipping on the slick ice.

As he painfully landed on his upper-back, the ice crackled beneath the hash impact, and all the air was forced from Töpfer's lung's. As he lay on the ground, wheezing and trying to regain his breath, Töpfer was reminded of another important lesson one of his previous instructors had given him:

"_Fighting is often like dancing", one of his commanders had told the group of disbelieving cadets, "every move you make, every strategy you employ has it's own beat; it has it's own rhythm. Doesn't matter if it's Muggle martial arts or spell-casting - Hell, even chess and checkers have their own rhythm. The key is to see the rhythm that your opponent is moving at, and either lure them into your own rhythm or crush them with yours. If you can do that, no strategy they can employ, no move they can make or weapon they can use against you will be able to beat you." As the class looked at him with surprise, one of the cadets, Raimund, raised his hand and asked, "Sir, what do you do if your trapped in your opponent's 'rhythm' and can't get out?" The battle harden commander had looked Raimund dead in the eye and stated, "Well then your in the shit, aren't you?"_

His shield having been canceled by the crash, Töpfer tilted his head up to look at his enemy. The creature was still close to the stairwell towards the end of the hallway. Oddly, instead of pressing the attack like he would have done, the creature was hitting itself over the head with it's wand and muttering quietly to itself. Taking advantage of it's distracted state, Töpfer tried to regain control of his breathing and began to raise his wand to attack. When the creature noticed Töpfer's movement, it quickly hissed, _"Bombarda Maxima!"_, causing Töpfer to roll aside as the massive white lance flew towards him. As he rolled, Töpfer used the little air in his lungs to wheeze, _"Diffindo!"_, causing the charm to fly low along the ground, kicking up shards of ice in it's wake.

When the creatures spell finally hit, the ground where Töpfer had been was torn to pieces as massive boulders of rock flew outward, and portions of the floor cracked and jutted upward from the force of the blast. As Töpfer continued rolling away from the explosion, the floor beneath him cracked and suddenly lifted upward from the extreme pressure it was under, sending the soldier careening into the wall. Connecting with a painful thud, his head snapped back and hit the cold stone wall behind him, making his vision swim as he tried to regain his senses. Töpfer was still trying desperately to steady his breathing, and through blurry eye's he could see his opponent leap over the Severing Charm he had sent against it.

_'Dammit! What's the pattern?'_, Töpfer thought angrily to himself as he inhaled large gulps of air, '_What's the rhythm?'_ Using the wall behind him he raised himself to his feet, and with a snap of his wand sent a tendril of fire from his wand like a whip, snapping through the air as it stretched towards the crimson specter. The creature quickly rolled forward under the spell as it sliced trough the air and burned a gash into the wall. Coming out of it's roll, Töpfer's opponent shouted, _"Confringo!"_, sending the explosive Blasting Curse soaring towards him.

Unwilling to trust a shield against the curse, Töpfer dodged to his left, almost falling into the wide, shallow crater left from the specter's earlier spells. Ignoring the loud, screeching explosion behind him, Töpfer focused on his enemy, who was now getting back to it's feet. With the exception of a few powerful explosive spells, the creature's spell-set was severely lacking, seeming to be that of a young child's. However, despite it's seeming lack of knowledge, the creature was doing exceptionally well against a trained soldier; It wasn't the spells that the creature knew that gave it an edge, but instead it was the _way_ in which it used them that made it dangerous. Töpfer decided it would be wise if he approached his fight with the creature far more cautiously now, considering the bizarre, if almost non-existent combat technique of his foe.

As the creature began to move again, Töpfer brace himself for another explosive spell or odd spell combination, but instead the creature threw something at him. As it twirled through the air, Töpfer's eye's immediately locked on to it, before the creature raised it's wand and cried, _"Lumos Maxima!"_, sending a massive pulse of light through the corridor and temporarily blinding Töpfer. With a frustrated cry, Töpfer closed his eye's, losing his concentration till he felt something impact with his chest. As the blinding light faded, Töpfer looked down to see...

A dagger. That thing had actually thrown a dagger at him? Even worse, the handle had hit his chest instead of the blade, causing no damage to him at all. The whole situation felt like a cliche Muggle action movie. Maybe he had actually overestimated his opponent after all; What the hell was it thinking?

Looking up, Töpfer had just enough time to duck and roll forward as another Blasting Curse soared overhead and crashed into the wall behind him with a massive bang. Fed up with his opponent's weak spell-set and confusing tactics, Töpfer stepped forward and tapped into the rage that still swirled through him, focusing it on the thing before him. As Töpfer began to chant, _"Avada..."_, the creature responded oddly by crying, _"Accio!"_ The sudden jolt of pain in his right calf caused him to look down and finally understand what his opponent had been up to. The bizarre looking dagger that the creature had thrown at him was now jutting painfully through Töpfer's lower leg.

The creature quickly used another Summoning Charm on the blade, causing it to lurch forward and dig further into Töpfer's calf. With a cry of pain, Töpfer collapsed to the ground, clutching his wounded leg. Mercilessly, the creature once again called, _"Accio!"_, but as Töpfer waited for another explosion of pain, he instead heard a different, screeching explosion behind him. Looking over his shoulder, the soldier's eye's widened as he saw one of the prisons heavy metal doors rip free from the heavily damaged wall as it flew straight towards him!

Pressing himself as flat into the ground as possible, Töpfer could hear the door as it flew through the air, the wind making a distinctive whistling sound as it passed through the metal bars. Töpfer could feel his clothing swirl as the massive metal gate flew just over him, close enough to blow around the hair on his head. The soldier didn't get a moment to catch his bearings as the specter then cried, _"Depulso!"_, causing the prison bars to turn in mid air and once again go sailing straight for him. Quickly rolling to the side, Töpfer sucked in his pain-filled shriek as he rolled over his damaged leg, just barely avoiding the speeding cell gate. It's corner drove hard into the floor, digging in several feet, before finally stopping as the metal still trembled, emitting a haunting, low tone as it vibrated from the heavy impact.

Coming back to his senses, Töpfer ignored the pain in his leg and quickly turned, wand raised to counter his assailant...

...Except there was no one there. The hallway was completely deserted, and his opponent nowhere in sight.

* * *

Silence reined through the quiet corridors of Nurmengard Prison; their long, deserted halls presenting an eerie image for those unfortunate enough to have to traverse them. Despite the all encompassing silence, one could easily imagine something quietly lurking behind the next corner, hiding in the shadows away from view. Some would call this simple paranoia, but in this particular case one could argue that there was a grain of truth to the irrational fear.

On the prisons eighth floor, if someone squinted they may have been able to a a quick distortion of the air, passing so quickly and silently through their line of vision that the person may have believed themselves to be imagining things. 'Simple paranoia' would be the most logical explanation for believing that there was someone quietly creeping through the prisons deserted corridors; of course they would be wrong.

Without making a single sound, Harry Potter crept quietly through the halls of Nurmengard, appearing for any who may have chanced to see him as nothing more then a brief ripple in the air, only the slightest possible distortion of light revealing his hidden presence. Harry was still amazed at how useful the spell was – without having to rely on his Invisibility Cloak, Harry could effectively become invisible now whenever or wherever he wanted!...sort of. The spell wasn't perfect: it took several seconds to take full effect, and when it did it wasn't real 'invisibility', as it only seemed to bend the light around him, making him blend into the background similar to a chameleon. His Invisibility Cloak was still superior in terms of concealment, but at least with the spell he didn't have to worry about his feet being seen or tripping over his cloak. It eliminated the need to carry his Cloak with him everywhere, but he couldn't use the spell outside of school yet due to his age...assuming he ever escaped his hellish situation.

The last battle had been the first while trapped inside Nurmengard where Harry had had the Killing Curse cast against him. It had confused him at first because he had been told earlier that Grindelwald had wanted him captured alive for some reason, but then again his opponent didn't seem like a Purifier. The man's green robes didn't match up with the Purifiers crimson garbs or even the prisoners tatty robes. Harry's attacker was also alone, while all the Purifiers he had encountered up to that point had traveled in pairs.

Did it mean that there was another force within Nurmengard besides Grindelwald and his Purifiers? While the idea should have provided Harry with some sense of relief, his earlier encounter with his green robed attacker destroyed any sense of optimism that had been left within Harry. Why the hell did these new people want to kill him? Either way Harry could look at the situation, his odds of survival had just plummeted with the addition of a new group of enemies to have to contend with, even with his new chameleon spell working in his favor.

Thinking back to his last fight, Harry had been given two separate opportunities to take that man's life: once when the man was still on the ground after he had cast Bombarda Maxima, and just after he had almost crushed the man's head with the cell door. Both times Harry had instead chosen to try to cast the chameleon spell again, hoping it would work, sparing the man's life twice.

While Harry was aware that he had killed and would likely have to kill again before he could escape the prison, the idea still didn't sit well with him. While it was well within his power to kill others, Harry felt that a tiny piece of himself died along with each of his victims. Because his enemy hadn't been able to attack temporarily on both occasions, Harry had stayed his hand and tried a different tactic. It was probably more luck then skill that allowed him to cast the spell the second time he tried during the fight.

While a part of him was distinctly relived at having escaped the situation without killing the man, another was decidedly worried. The last time Harry had spared someones life, Wormtail had helped resurrect Voldemort, who had almost killed him and the fallout of that battle had eventually led to his current incarceration. Last time Harry had at least known who Wormtail was loyal to, but he knew nothing of the green robed man or who he worked for.

Dumbledore had once told him that by sparing Wormtail he had done a very 'noble' thing, and that the traitor now owed Harry a life debt. The boy could vividly remember the aged Headmaster telling Harry of the unpredictable consequences of our actions and that the bond he now shared with Wormtail, and possibly the green robed man, was magic at it's deepest, most impenetrable level. But did sparing the life of someone trying to kill you still form that bizarre bond?

Harry could neither boast the wisdom nor the experience of the aged Headmaster – all Harry could hope for was that sparing the man's life didn't come back to bite him in the ass like it did the last time.

* * *

With intricate movements he weaved his wand, stitching back skin and sinew, mending the broken flesh. While taking the time to heal his wounded leg left him exposed to attack, Töpfer knew that the risk was worth being in top form should he be attacked again, though he didn't doubt that the crimson specter that he had fought was long gone.

Thinking of he last opponent still confused Töpfer. Who, or _what_ the hell was it? It was definitely physical, so that ruled out a ghost, but there was no way that the Zauberministerium would ever allow a physical specter like a ghoul or poltergeist to haunt a military controlled facility like a prison. The only option left to consider was that his attacker had, in fact, been a young child as it had first appeared. But then why the hell was a child wandering through one of the most heavily guarded prisons on the planet? Even more so during a deadly prison revolt and covered in blood?

Thinking back to the way his opponent had fought had led credibility to his enemy actually being a child; but if it was a child how could Töpfer, a fully trained soldier, actually lose? While most of the spells used against him were elementary, the way they were used was shockingly effective and unpredictable. How could a child have ever learned to fight like that? - surely there was no way some school-age runt could have had any previous combat experience to help guide him, could it?

Almost as annoying was the question of why his foe had spared his life - _Twice_. Töpfer wasn't an overly proud man, but the thought of being shown mercy be a child stung his pride horribly, as did the thought of having been pushed so far and still losing. Töpfer briefly recalled the look in his opponent's eye's before he had cast the first spell; it seemed obvious to him now that his foe had not wanted to fight, but would do so if necessary, lending further credence to his enemy actually being a child.

Shaking his head, Töpfer tried to dispel the frustrating thoughts as he finished the different healing charms he had cast on his leg. While the skin on his leg was still irritable, he should now be able to walk without any problems. Slowly standing up, the soldier cast a quick Scouring Charm on himself to remove the blood, making it seem as if he had never been injured.

His task completed, Töpfer turned his attention to the lethal looking dagger that had been thrown at him. Despite the dagger's sinister appearance, there didn't appear to be any particular dark curse on the blade, although he could definitely detect some form of magic in the weapon. It was also obvious that it was one of the Purifiers, judging by the mark of Grindelwald that formed the daggers cross-guard, but why was the child caring one? Deciding he may as well take it with him, Töpfer cleaned the blade with another Scouring Charm before tucking it into his cloak, thinking the odd dagger may come in handy later.

Slowly continuing his way down the hall, Töpfer again headed for the stairwell leading to the ninth floor, his wand aimed at the dark stairwell. Unlike last time, he met no resistance as he was able to quietly ascend to the next floor without any difficulties. Near the top to the stairwell was one of the prisons many barred windows, each heavily charmed to prevent escape. It was as Töpfer was passing the window that he saw something that completely changed the situation for him.

Looking out the bars, Töpfer had a clear view of the front of the prison, and he was high enough to see over Nurmengard's outer wall. At the distant tree-line that separated the prison form the forest, Töpfer could see a small flicker of movement, before a sudden wave of green started to spill out onto the empty clearing towards the prison. From the distance that Töpfer was viewing it, the situation almost seemed like Shakespeare's play _Macbeth_ come alive; _'the forest was moving closer...'_

Ripping a tiny piece of cloth of his cloak, Töpfer quickly transfigured it into a round piece of glass, before muttering, _"__Magnificat!"_, causing the glass to slightly glow. The Magnification Charm was a very handy amplification spell that could cause a clear substance to freely warp and zoom in on distant targets, allowing for easy veiwing over large distances...as long as you did'nt cast it on yourself. Töpfer had once seen some idiot try to cast the charm on his eye's to ogle several beautiful women without being detected, only for the spell to have rather painfull and messy conequences on the user; Töpfer had learned well from that fools mistake. Looking through the glass, the soldier gave his wand a quick twist, causing the glass to warp and zoom in on the distant movement beyond the prison's walls.

As wave of relif swept through Töpfer as he closely veiwed the massive green wave before him. They were all Gegentaktik soldiers, storming towards the prison's front gates to tear them down. A smile spread accross his lips as Töpfer felt his frayed nerves finaly start to settle – the reinforcements had finaly arived, and there were _loads_ of them. Töpfer estimated there had to be at least everal hundred soldiers approaching the prison, at leat a battalion's worth of troops. The smile on the relived soldiers face continued to widen as he compared the numbers: even if every inmate in the prison had participated in the revolt, that would still only be just over two-hunderd opponents, but compared to the Gegentaktik's three-hundred plus troops now approaching, the Purifiers were _fucked_.

It was while Töpfer was scanning the approaching battalion that the sudden surge of joy he had felt suddenly seemed to freeze within him. Through his enchanted glass, Töpfer had seen one particular man marching at the head of the battalion, like some sort of trumped-up glory hound leading his troops to victory, completely assured of his own superiority and invernerability. Despite not being able to see any destinct facial details, Töpfer could instantly tell who the man was by his general appearance and the way he carried himself.

The man was tall and walked with a perfectly straight back, seemeing to exude self-confidence and a beleif in his own superiority. His peppered hair was cut short and slicked back in a no-nonsence style, displaying his rather serious attitude towards the world. Although Töpfer could'nt see it clearly from his distance, he knew the man had a pointed goatee framing what seemed to be a permanent frown. His high, tanned cheek-bones seemed to draw attention to his prominent eye's, which were a cool cobalt blue. It was his eye's that seemed to intimidate those around him the most, as they seemed to be cold and completely devoid of life, except for the occasional flicker of cruel malice within them.

Töpfer would never forget those eye's; he could vividly remember the cruel, twisted hate that flared in them as the man carelessly ended the carrier of another over a supposed slight. He was the man who had crippled his best freind, Raimund, which had lead him down the path towards Nurmengard, and eventually, his death. Waves of raw rage began to cource through Töpfer once again as he beheld the one man in the world who he could honestly say he truly hated.

Lieutenant General Meinhard Schwarz of the Zauberministerium's Gegentaktik division had come to Nurmengard.


	7. Siege

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and I'm not getting paid anything for writing this, so keep your damn lawyers away. BEGONE!

**Nurmengard**

_Chapter 7: Siege_

From within his cell at the top of Nurmengard Prison, Grindelwald grimly watched from his window as a battalion of at least three-hundred Gegentaktik soldiers advanced upon the outer walls of his fortress. Unlike the two Element teams that had acted as a stealthy scouting unit earlier, the army before him had no intentions of either sneaking into Nurmengard nor hiding their presence. In the clearing between the forest and the prison's outer walls, under the light of day, the battalions vanguard unit brazenly marched forward and began viciously attacking the gates. Instead of skillfully cutting a hole in the ward's and slipping in like their predecessors, the vanguard unit chose to simply use brute force to blast their way into the fortress.

Even from the highest floor of the fortress, Grindelwald could see the gates buckle as the Gegentaktik soldiers kept hammering away at the doors. As soon as one spell would hit the gates and dissipate, they would use the residual magic left behind to add to the next spell to increase it's power and continue pounding away. Their tactic's were sound, and it was only a matter of time before Nurmengard's outer gate was breached by the enemy. Grindelwald could only watch silently as the ward's protecting the gate's flared up, causing a shimmering array of light's to appear over the gate's surface as they strained against the onslaught, till with a loud snap the light dissipated and the pillars supporting the door's cracked, allowing the ruined gate to be blasted inward towards the courtyard.

The vanguard unit of the Gegentaktik battalion then began to advance calmly, almost smugly, through the ravaged archway they had just overcome. At the front of the unit marched one man, bold as brass, strutting along like some conquering hero. Grindelwald recognized the man as Lieutenant General Meinhard Schwarz, a man who not only knew he was an absolute prick, but seemed to take pleasure and pride because of it. No one really liked the man, not that he ever seemed to care, but he was a very skilled fighter as well as having numerous connections with his superiors that allowed him to rapidly advance through the Gegentaktik ranks. He seemed to be a ruthless brown-nose, but was undeniably very good at what he did. Grindelwald knew he would enjoy wiping the smug look of the man's face.

Judging by the size of the battalion, the Dark Lord knew he was seriously outnumbered, as neither of his relief unit's had arrived yet. However, Grindelwald seriously doubted any of the Gegentaktik knew exactly what they were getting themselves into, and he would play the situation to his full advantage. While watching the vanguard march forward, Grindelwald calmly raised a communication mirror to his face and coldly uttered, "Aktivieren."

Outside the prison's gates, Gegentaktik soldiers began to quickly drop in spurt's of blood and gore, several in a row as they were shot from the outer walls guard towers, beyond the reach of return-fire. Quickly dispersing to thin-out their number's and make themselves harder to hit, the soldiers began to either attempt to fire back despite the distance or head through the gateway into the prison's outer courtyard. The onslaught of soldiers surging forward quickly blocked up the gateway, but at least the ruined pillars provided some cover from the prison's snipers.

Calmly walking towards one of the walls withing his lavish cell, Grindelwald examined a massive array of shimmering runes that helped control the fortresses defenses. Touching his wand to one of the glowing runes before him, a sinister grin spread across the Dark Lord's face as two of the ten-man teams storming in through the entrance were caught in a dazzling web of interconnected beams of light that had stretched across the massive doorway; The soldiers barely had time to panic before they were quickly cut to pieces by the lethal trap they had fallen into. Those who had made it into the courtyard were not spared as the Dark Lord touched another rune and several intricate patterns began to weave themselves in the ground beneath the soldiers feet, incinerating some while completely shredding others as they activated.

Seeing the looks of shock and horror on the faces of the other soldiers as they witnessed their comrades gruesome demise sent an oddly joyous feeling through Grindelwald, making him feel a little younger then his years usually let him. Did they really think that because their pathetic little advance team had made it through that he had no outer defenses at all? Every good strategist knows that you don't start using you best weapon's till you really have to, or you risk tipping you hand to your enemy. If Schwarz actually believed he could march straight into the territory of a Dark Lord and easily take over then he would be in for a rude awakening, one that Grindelwald would be more then happy to see the Lieutenant General pay for in both despair and blood.

* * *

As Harry stalked silently down the dark hallways of Nurmengard he gripped his wand tightly in his right hand, ready for any sudden surprises – at least, he _hoped_ he was ready. Rubbing his aching shoulder with his free left hand, Harry had to concede that he was a mess – Within the space of about three hours, Harry had been beaten, thrown, hexed, cursed, nearly crushed under a collapsing staircase, and almost killed more times then he cared to count. Harry had suffered through all that damage, and he had only managed to descend five floors in the prison, with seven still left to traverse...yay.

Trudging painfully along, the only thing that gave any semblance of comfort to Harry was the amazing camouflage charm he had learned from one of his fallen foes. The charm was literally a life saver, and as long as he kept his mouth shut and moved along quietly Harry figured he could traverse Nurmengard's dangerous hallways without being accosted. Now if Harry could just figure out where the hell he actually was...

Harry would have thought that with the prisons triangular shape, if you just kept going straight you would eventually find a staircase, but the entire facility, from the hallways to the stairwells, seemed like some twisted labyrinth constructed by some demented fool who took joy out of messing with the mind's and patience of others. The hallways would stay straight for a time, with windows on one side looking out, and then they would split in several directions, and all the branching hallways would also have their own windows and additional twists themselves. _'Damn magic'_, Harry thought sourly, rubbing his forehead as he tried to logically picture how the facility _should_ look based on the inside layout, but could only come up with a tangled spiders web of corridors that seemed to keep branching out randomly instead of the prisons actual shape. He had seen similar expansion charms and hidden rooms in places like Hogwarts and the Burrow, but why must wizards make everything so damn confusing? Unless you knew where you were going, finding the stairs seemed more a case of luck then anything else, and aside from being on the seventh floor, Harry had no clue where he was.

As he continued walking silently along, Harry kept looking around for a stairwell, a direction sign, or even a recognizable feature; hell, even a bathroom sign would have been welcomed by Harry, almost anything but more empty prison cells, locked doors, or looted corpses that were randomly scattered throughout the hallways.

Almost anything, except more Purifiers. As his breath caught in his throat Harry's ears, now attuned to the encompassing silence within the prison, could hear the shuffling of feet ahead of him around a corner, quickly approaching. Glancing around, Harry could only find smooth walls and prison cells in the corridor; Hiding in one of the cells was not an option, as the rapidly approaching footsteps would hear the squeaky groan of the metal grates. Taking a deep breath, Harry pressed himself tightly against the wall, hoping the width of the corridor and his camouflage charm would keep him undetected.

As the two Purifiers turned the corner, Harry kept completely silent and closely watched their eye's to see where they were looking. Neither man was talking, and both seemed to idly sweep the corridor with their eye's, looking for anything unusual. Harry could swear he felt the hairs the back of his neck stand up as the bored eye's of one of the Purifiers swept over him without notice.

As they quickly approached, Harry noticed they were walking closer to the wall he was leaning against instead of the center of the corridor. _'Shit!'_, Harry thought desperately as the men got closer and closer. He dared not move for fear of being noticed as he was now directly in their field of vision. They were only five steps away now, and Harry began to quietly panic. Four steps – Harry could feel all the muscles in his body tense, ready to fight. Three steps – the cold sweat and drying blood on his body made Harry's skin tingle unpleasantly. Two steps – Harry dared not breath, afraid they would hear the slightest sound coming from him. One step – the rapid beating of his heart pounded like thunder against his eardrums, and Harry faintly wondered how the Purifiers couldn't hear it...

As the two Purifiers came even with Harry, the men were close enough that he could hear the swish of robes as they passed, even feel the gentle breeze they made as they fluttered along past him. One step away, two steps away, three steps away...it wasn't until the men had finally made another turn at the end of the corridor that Harry dared breath again. He took steady, deep breaths, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart as he listened to the Purifier's footsteps slowly fade away.

Once again thankful he had learned the camouflage charm, Harry pushed himself from the wall and started to head in the opposite direction of the Purifiers when a sudden jolt of pain lanced across his forehead. His left arm shot out towards the wall to steady himself as his right came up to clutch at his searing scar. His infamous scar had suddenly and inexplicably awoken in a blinding flash of pain, and Harry felt as if a hot poker was trying to simultaneously force it's way out of his forehead while somehow also burrowing deep into his skull. Harry was forced to press his lips tightly together to prevent any sound from escaping as he tried to wither the expanding rush of pain in his head.

As the pain began to creep outwards from his scar Harry's vision began to distort, Nurmengard's dark hallways blurring in and out of focus. Becoming unsteady, Harry fell to one knee, now clutching his scar with both hands. Harry began to feel the world swirling around him as his vision began to fade in and out. As the pain in his head began to increase, Harry desperately tried to hold off on making any sound. As a rather vicious stab of pain lanced through his scar, Harry toppled sideways on the floor, a pained gurgle finally escaping his parched lips. Struggling to get up, Harry got back on his knees before another powerful stab of pain flashed through him, and for a moment his vision shifted completely to something beyond what was before him in the hallway.

With every pulse of pain, Harry now saw a dark, desolate island, surrounded by chaotic seas and hidden by thick, dark clouds. With every agonizing flash the vision became more detailed, and Harry could now notice a tall, obsidian tower jutting upwards from the bleak, lifeless island before him. As the pain grew increasingly more unbearable more squeaks and gurgles escaped his pained body while his vision of the hallway before him and the desolate island started to overlap each other. Becoming increasingly more disoriented from his spinning head and warped vision, Harry couldn't concentrate on what was happening to him, and the only thought that reverberated through his mind was, _'Don't make a sound!'_

It was only as the pain became too much to bear that Harry felt himself getting pulled towards the dark island in his vision, the hallway around him seemingly dissolving into nothingness. With one final, painful tug Harry's body bent backwards at an obscene angle, and he felt as if his soul was being ripped from it's earthly vessel. A horrible shriek of pure agony echoed throughout the hallways of Nurmengard as the pain finally won out against Harry's immense willpower and his body finally surrendered to it's misery.

As Harry felt himself painfully spinning forward towards the dark tower before him and away from his body, he could feel his consciousness begin to fade. Engulfed by the dark vision before him, Harry felt he knew this place, although he had never actually been there himself. There wasn't a magical person alive who hadn't heard of the inescapable fortress before him, guarded by some of the most foul creatures to haunt this world. One final word came to mind as his world faded away, lost as the painful vision finally enveloped him entirely: _'Azkaban...'_

* * *

The rickety little boat they were on swayed violently to-and-fro amidst the chaotic ocean waves that battered against it. The three men who huddled within the craft were pelted with the churning sea-foam that crested over the bow of their tiny boat and repeatedly drenched them, the frigid waters of the northern seas chilling them to the bone. The storm they now found themselves sailing through was not a natural occurrence – the violent storm was the result of a complex series of charms and ward's cast to hide and isolate the barren island at the center of the spells.

Through the torrential rain they could see it approaching, the barren spit of land that was continuously shroud in magical darkness that would have sent chills up the spine – assuming, of course, that the prison's horrid guard's didn't get to you first. At the center of the small, lifeless island was a massive obsidian tower that stretched upward into the stormy skies, as if the tower itself was trying to escape the dismal isle it was trapped on. Any speck of hope that would have been left to those approaching would have been violently ripped from them and devoured by the swirling black mass near the towers peak, their numbers so large that they almost seemed to be extension of the storm raging around them, a terrible cloud descended to earth to terrorize the towers inhabitants. They were both the keepers and the tormentors of the wretched souls whose depravity earned them a place there - Dementors, the vile, soul sucking wraiths who diligently guarded Azkaban Prison, just so they could fest upon the hapless inmates trapped inside.

As the little dingy finally pulled up to the island, the three men stepped onto the rotted wharf and proceeded towards the prisons looming gates. The large gates were only guarded by one wizard; after all, who in their right mind would try to break into Azkaban? As for those trying to break out, the prisons other guards had proved extremely effective in dealing with them. As the hooded trio approached the lone guard lazily waved towards them. "You have a visitor, Jameson? Who in Merlin's name would want to come visit this God-forsaken hellhole?", the guard asked, his eyes following Jameson, one of the ferrymen between the prison and the distant Mainland, as he quietly walked towards him. As Jameson continued to silently approach, the guard started to become annoyed at being ignored, and with an indignant growl shouted, "Oi! You hear me Jameson! Clean the seawater out of yer' ears, boat-boy, I asked you a..." The guard's indignant shout died out as he got a better look at the man's face before him. Jameson, a usually expressive individual, had a completely blank expression on his face; The mans glassy eyes were even worse, seemingly completely devoid of life, almost as if...

The guard's eye's widened as he started to shout, "INTRU...", before he was violently thrown backwards as a dull bluish lance was shot trough Jameson and then drilled straight through him, leaving a charred gaping hole in his abdomen. The lethal spell continued onward, unimpeded by the two men it had pierced through, before blasting into the prison's large gate, causing the doors to shudder violently, but they managed to hold strong against the attack. With a odd flick of his wrist, the stranger who had killed the two guards shot a bright, hot beam of light at the outer rim of the gate, quickly running it over the door's outer edge's and causing the metal to rapidly turn to a glowing, red-hot molten liquid. With another flick, another lance of bluish-light was sent hurtling towards the gate, this time blasting the doors of their melted hinges, the two massive metal plates still tightly locked together as they smashed against an inner wall with an eerie gong sound, a steep contrast with the blaring prison alarms now ringing throughout the facility.

As the two cloaked men briskly walked through the melted doorway, five more guards rapidly rushed trough one of the passages in the prison's rectangular entrance hall. With a brief flick of his wrist, the first man summoned a wall of fire that barreled towards the guards, instantly incinerating two of them while the remaining three hid behind heavy shielding charms. With a quick upward swish, the last three guards were impaled on massive pillars of rock that formed from the floor they were standing on, their soft flesh offering little resistance to the sharpened obsidian rock as it pierced their bodies.

As the first intruder brought his hand to his mouth and began forming a massive ball of fire, the second was distracted by three more guards coming from another doorway just behind them. The cloaked mans hasty Severing Charm was quickly deflected by one of the advancing guards while the remaining two shot at him with Stunners. Ducking under the spells, the intruder quickly hit one of the guards with a hasty Tripping Jinx while the other was shot at with a Blasting Charm. As the guard shielded against the blowing blast of light, he was knocked backwards over his tripped comrade and fell painfully to the floor. With an exaggerated downward swipe, the cloaked individual sent a massive bolt of lightning crashing downward into the two guards on the floor, killing them instantly. The last guard, undisturbed by the death of his allies, continued to charge at the intruder and got close enough that as the cloaked man moved his wand up to attack he was able to grab the man's left hand, leaving the intruder without any means of defending himself. With a quick swish, the guard was about to kill the intruder when a glistening silver hand flew out of the cloaked mans robes and snapped the guards wand with seemingly no effort, before quickly wrapping itself around the guard's neck. Looking into the intruders hood, the last thing the guard saw was a pair of cold gray eye's staring at him with maliciousness, before his neck was crushed completely, turning the spine and flesh into a blood pulp that left nothing for the head to remain connected to. With blood dripping from his silver limb, the cloaked intruder watched the guards head roll away as the beheaded corpse collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

Slightly further in, the first man had formed a massive ball of fire before him, twisting and writhing as it it were alive. As the man started to make several sharp hissing sounds, the fiery ball began to uncoil with a terrible roar, forming several massive snakes of pure flame that reached up towards the entryway's high ceiling. With a brief wave and a hiss, all but one of the man's fiery creation's went down the different doorways that led into the large chamber that he was currently in, incinerating anything in their path.

As panicked screams began to echo from the different hallways around him and reach a pitch that rivaled the prison's blaring alarms, the two cloaked intruders began to feel a disturbing chill creep over them, like an oppressive wave that threatened to sap all the joy from their world. With a disturbing chuckle, the first man looked towards the blasted entryway, awaiting the _true_ guards of Azkaban to appear. It was only a few seconds before the open doorway seemed to instantly turn black, and all light from the raging storm outside was blocked as the shadows along the great archway seemed to move, spreading outward and deeper into the room, towards the intruders. While the second man began to tremble as the feeling's of hopelessness increased, the first stood tall, seemingly unaffected by the creatures that rapidly surrounded him. It wasn't until one of the shadows moved towards him, taking physical shape and attacking him that the man made a move. With a slight flick of his wrist, the massive serpent of flame behind him slithered forward, striking the shadowy wraith before it could touch it's master, quickly turning it to ash as it screamed in horrible agony. As soon as they saw one of their brethren fell, the shadows seemed to instantly recede back as safe distance away from the flaming serpent, causing the shadowed man's thin lip's to twist in a satisfied smirk; not even the infamous Dementors of Azkaban could withstand Fiendfyre.

As the first intruder focused on the shadowy wraith's before him, he could sense the subtle build up of magical energy behind him, and quickly spun to his left as a vivid Killing Curse streaked past him, the force of the spell distorting the air and causing the intruder's hood to fall back, revealing his face. Pale gray skin covered the completely hairless head, giving the man an almost alien appearance. His otherworldly looks were further enhanced by his lack of a nose, possessing only two narrow slits for nostrils and one long, thin line where the man's lips should have been. Despite all this, it was his eye's that were the most terrifying, being crimson-red with narrow slits for irises, and possessing no other emotion in them besides pure, unfettered hatred and rage. His horrid appearance was oddly appropriate, considering the fact that he was a man known worldwide for both his terrifying strength and ruthless ambitions, and had become perhaps the most infamous Dark Lord to have ever lived - The vile being known as Lord Voldemort.

As Voldemort's evasive turn came to a halt, he held his wand pointing at his attacker – a lone prison guard, leaning against one of the door-frames and suffering from terrible burns over most of his visible body. As the guard fought through his pain and steadied his aim, he caught a look at the intruders now visible face and froze in pure terror, scarcely believing who he had just attacked. As the guard stood frozen in fear, the Dark Lord quickly hurled a Cruciatus Curse at the wounded man, causing him to fall to the floor with an agonizing scream.

As he watched the guard being tortured before him dispassionately, Voldemort didn't fail to notice the wave of Dementor's behind him start to tremble and writhe, becoming excited by the guard's tortured screams. With a smirk he levitated the still screaming guard and threw him before the mass of Dementor's near the prison's entrance, who had instantly stilled. "A gift," the Dark Lord simply said, carefully watching the Dementor's for their response.

Slowly, a shadow began to separate from the teeming mass, solidifying into the iconic appearance of a emaciated wraith covered in a black, ragged cloak. The Dementor slowly floated forward before bending down and, caressing the terrified guard's face as if he were a lover, began to lower it's lip's for a kiss. A horrified speak was the last sound out of the man's mouth as the Dementor sealed it's lip's to the guard's, sucking the soul from the man's tortured body and devouring it. It's meal finished, the Dementor promptly dropped the unresponsive corpse to the floor without a single care, having no further use for the now soulless body. The Dementor then quietly watched the Dark Lord before it, waiting for the man's next move.

A twisted grin spread across Voldemort's face as he witnessed his 'gift' being accepted. "My friend's," the Dark Lord began, waving his left hand in a wide arc towards the Dementor's, "why do you serve such a corrupt group as the Ministry? They restrict your movement's, imprison you here on this desolate isle, and limit your nourishment like the prisoner's they have tasked you to guard. It is time to throw off the yoke of oppression and let your voices be heard! I can offer you sustenance! I can offer you pleasure! I _will_ offer you freedom! Will you join me once again, and take back this world for the chosen?" the Dark Lord finished, his voice echoing through the prison's large entrance-hall.

A resounding shriek was Voldemort's response, and it was the one he wished for. "You have chosen well, my friend's," the Dark Lord said with a twisted smile. "You must all be starved. Perhaps you should have an appetizer of the guard's who once pretended themselves to be your betters. Leave the prisoners and the warden for me." With a casual wave the Dementor's quickly disbanded, some going in through the winding tunnels from the entrance while others chose to go in through the windows from the outside. Either way, the Dementor's were ready for a feast, and they would not be denied after having fasted for so long.

Using what had been leaked to him about the prison's layout from the last war, Voldemort quickly went about locating the warden's quarters, leaving his flaming serpent to guard the entrance while being followed by his hooded accomplice. As he began to pass through the prisoner's section, the inmates quickly sat up and began to rattle their metal cups against their prison's cold steel bars. Amidst all the clanging and cheering, the Dark Lord's wand barely gave a twitch as it quickly blasted off every prison lock that it passed, freeing the ecstatic prisoners that had been contained for so long, all the while he continued searching for one inmate in particular...

Despite the odd scene of joy that had erupted around him on such a desolate isle, Voldemort could feel nothing but the soul-burning rage that had been bubbling just beneath the surface for the past several week's – ever since his failed resurrection ceremony and subsequent disfigurement, all caused by _him_. Voldemort's hand tightened around his current wand as he fought against his rising anger, not that he could truly feel the wand. During the frantic battle in the graveyard, Voldemort had managed to not only lose both his wand and most of his current followers, but he had also lost both his right arm and leg to the brat's destructive magic. His new resurrected body was still weak, and the injury's he had suffered threatened to unravel the magically conjured flesh that was held together by only a fraction of soul. Lacking in option's, Voldemort immediately ordered his last surviving servant, Wormtail, to gather several powerful artifacts that he had hidden in various locations, items that possessed pieces of his soul locked within them, otherwise known as a Horcrux. Giving the pathetic little man directions on where and how to get to the items, the debilitated Dark Lord used his pilfered wand to fashion himself a replacement arm and leg similar to the one he had hastily crafted for Wormtail, except far more powerful. Carefully etched with glowing emerald runes, the Dark Lord's new silver appendages seemed more like work's of art then the last ditch replacements for his limb's that they were. However, even with his new limb's and the myriad of strength and magic enhancing runes carved into them, they just didn't feel right; his sense of touch felt muted and his center of gravity felt constantly shifted to his right side. And he always felt _so damn tired..._

Wormtail, using the Dark Lord's information, was able to quickly retrieve a old ring and a glistening locket for his master. Expecting the Dark Lord to be satisfied with his quick progress, Wormtail was not expecting Voldemort to fly into a rage when he discovered the locket was a fake, and that one of his precious soul containers had been destroyed by a former servant. Questioning the fate of his remaining soul-shard's, Voldemort quickly dispatched Wormtail to retrieve the rest, while he kept both the ring and his serpent, Nagini, close to him as they seemed to help stabilize the link between his body and soul a little. It took some time for Wormtail to hunt down the last three Horcruxes even with the Dark Lord's detailed instructions: A diadem hidden within Hogwart's proved to be the easiest for the rat animagus to retrieve, while the Imperious Curse had to be used on one of the Lestrange's last free relatives to retrieve a golden cup from within Gringotts. The final Horcrux, a diary, had been destroyed by the same brat who had crippled his body and ruined his plan's..._again_.

Voldemort was able to take the four remaining Horcruxes and use their combined power to help stabilize he ravaged body and soul. Much to his consternation, Voldemort had to carefully unravel the powerful spells on both the diadem and cup, reuniting the soul shard's with his own and stabilizing his core in one of the most excruciating processes he could ever remember undertaking. Due to his meticulous work, neither of the precious artifacts were damaged, and the Dark Lord felt more alive then he had in decades. With only two Horcruxes left, Voldemort chose to keep them both close to him at all times, his faithful Nagini never leaving his side and the ring safely secured to his metallic hand.

Suppressing his hateful memories, the Dark Lord continued to stroll through the hallways of Azkaban, unlocking cells as he made his way towards the prison's upper levels. Finally coming to a heavily warded doorway, Voldemort believed he had finally found what he was searching for, and with a quick wave, dismissed his accomplice. "Go and assist the others Wormtail," the Dark Lord hissed, "I will deal with this fool myself."

As Wormtail quickly bowed and began fearfully muttering his acceptance, Voldemort ceased to pay attention to him. Quietly observing the door for a moment, Voldemort quickly slashed his wand and a violet flame impacted with the wards covering the room's entrance, making the door's hinges buckle from the force of the blow. With a second wave the hinges finally gave, causing the ward's to fail and the wooden door to quickly erupt into a violet inferno as it smashed inwards, impacting the far wall of the room and quickly spreading the blaze.

Amidst the eerie purplish light of the flames, Voldemort could see a wand peek out from behind the large oak desk at the far side of the room before the spell was even cast towards him. Using the weight of his metallic limbs, Voldemort allowed his body to tilt to the right, easily evading the Killing Curse that was fired at him, and with a quick jab turned the large oak desk the warden hid behind into a hail of flying splinters.

Howling in pain, the warden fell to the ground, his face and hand's bleeding profusely as his body was turned in to a passive pincushion for the flying debris that had assaulted him. Levitating the bleeding warden from the ground, Voldemort cast a mild Numbing Charm and, with barely suppressed venom in his voice, whispered, _"Where is he?"_

Struggling to maintain consciousness through his rapid blood-loss, the terrified warden asked, "W-where's who?"

Growling, Voldemort gave a quick twist of his wrist, casting a Banishing Charm on the embedded splinters in the warden, causing the pain to overwhelm the earlier Numbing Charm and making the man shriek in agony. No longer bothering to hide his fury, Voldemort growled, _"Where...is...Potter?"_

"H-Harry Potter? The murderer?" the warden choked out, tears of pain running down his ravaged face, "the boy was never sent here. He's being held somewhere else. T-that's all I know," the man muttered fearfully, seeing the horrifying glow of madness and rage lighting the Dark Lord's crimson eye's.

Snarling, Voldemort quickly canceled his Numbing Charm, causing the warden's pain to return full-force, and threw the man at the blazing wall, using a Sticking Charm to make him stay there. Ignoring the warden's cries of agony as his body was rapidly engulfed in violet flames, Voldemort felt his anger begin to overwhelm his immense Occlumency barriers, surging through him and causing his magic to flare-up and distort the air around him. Regardless of what the liberated inmates believed, Voldemort would not have come to free them from their captivity so early after his resurrection and risk revealing himself to the world without taking the proper precautions first. The only reason Voldemort had moved up his plans to liberate Azkaban so quickly was because he believed that the British Minister would be here to pick up the boy.

Mashing his teeth, the swirling flames around him seemed to react to the raw magic that the Dark Lord was pumping out in his towering rage, quickly surging into an inferno that engulfed everything in the room aside from him and spreading outward towards the rest of the prison. It was all the brat's fault: the initial loss of his body, the destruction of one of his precious Horcruxes, the failure at his resurrection, the desecration of his flesh, and now having to reveal himself too soon without even benefiting from it...all the fault of one pathetic little child.

The low grow in the back of his throat started to bubble towards the surface, fulled by his anger till it reached the surface in a scream of absolute rage that seemed to echo throughout the dark prison. For one adolescent child to continue to defy him and ruin all of his plans was beyond either reason or forgiveness. The Dark Lord no longer cared for timing or schemes, nor for prophecies or domination. Within the violet maelstrom of magic and flames of Azkaban, Voldemort made a dark vow that surpassed everything else he ever held dear, his scream of rage solidifying his desire within him. Dumbledore and the world could wait till he had settled his grudge - his unending fury would settle for no-less. Only one goal echoed within Voldemort's ravaged heart and mind:

_'HARRY POTTER MUST DIE!'_


End file.
